UC-NRLF 


SB    E7E 


GIFT  OF 
Mrs.    Bernard  Moses 


POETRY  OF  THE  FIELDS. 


POETRY  OF  THE  FIELDS: 


PASSAGES  FKO'H  THE  POETS 


tstrbttk  of  Btstontl  Stems, 


KLKUANTLY  ILLUSTRATED. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  BY  E.  II.  BUTLER  &  CO. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

E.  II.  BUTLER  &  CO., 
£n  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


Contents. 


PAGE 

illORNING  IN  THE  COUNTRY,         .       .       .  THOMSON,  ....  IT 

THE  LINNET GRAHAME,       ...  18 

THE  GRASSHOPPER, COWLEY,    .... 

To  BLOSSOMS,        HERRICK,       .     .     . 

FROM  RURAL  SPORTS, GAY, 22 

ODE  TO  LEVEN  WATER, SMOLLETT,       ....  23 

A.  WISH, CUNNINGHAM,      ...  24 

To  A  SLYLARK, WORDSWORTH,    ...  25 

ENGLISH  SCENERY, COWPER, 26 

THE  HILLSIDE  FLOWER,       ....  GOULD, 33 

THE  SKYLARK, HOGG, 35 

THE  GREEN  PASTURES, M.  L.  DUNCAN,  ...  87 

THE  LARK,        SHAKSPEAFE,       ...  38 

THE  CUCKOO, GEAHAMB,      ....  38 

THE  BLACKBIRD, GRAHAME,      ....  39 

To  DAFFODILS, HERRICK,       ....  41 

ODE  ON  SPRING, GRAY, 42 

BOWLES, 44 

(13) 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY,       ....     BURNS, 45 

DESCRIPTION  OF  MORNING,       .     .     .  BEATTIE,   ...          .48 

PRIMROSES, HERRICK,        ....  49 

FROM  AN  ODE  TO  SUMMER,        .     .     .     WARTON, 50 

FIELD  SPORTS, SOMERVILLE,        ...  52 

To  A  SKYLARK, WORDSWORTH,     .     .     .  55 

RUTH, HOOD, 57 

To  THE  DAISY,       ,     .     .     .          .     .  WORDSWORTH,     ...  58 

HARVEST, .  BLOOMFIELD,        .     .     .  G2 

AN  ITALIAN  SONG,      .     .           ...     ROGERS, 04 

FIELD  FLOWERS, CAMPBELL,      .     .           .  G5 

OCTOBER  TWILIGHT,  ...          .     .     MAY, G7 

QUEEN  MAB, f  DUCHESS  OF  j       .     .  70 

HER  DWELLING, {  NEWCASTLE,  J       .     .  71 

A  RURAL  MEDITATION, THYNNE, 72 

THE  CLOSE  OF  SPRING, SMITH, 73 

ENGLISH  SCENERY, SMITH, 74 

ODE  TO  THE  MISSEL  THRUSH,        ,     .     SMITH, 76 

CLIFTON  HALL, YEARSLEY,      ....  78 

ON  A  SPRIG  OF  HEATH, GRANT, 79 

THE  ANGLER, HEMANS, 81 

THE  CHANGED  HOME, LANDON, 83 

A  SUMMER  DAY, CHAUCER,        ....  85 

LESSONS  OF  SPRING, KEBLE, 88 

FLOW  GENTLY,  SWEET  AFTON,       .     .     BURNS, 91 

THE  EARLY  DAWN, GEORGE  HUME,   ...  93 

THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD,  ....  KKBLE,       .     .          .     .  9o 


CON7  TENTS.  xv 

PAGE 

THE  QUESTION, SHELLEY, 9G 

THE  HUSBANDMAN, BRUCE, 98 

HUNTING  SONG, BURNS, 99 

PRAISE  AND  THANKSGIVING,     .     .     .  PAUL  GERHARDT,     .     .  101 

How  SPRING  HAS  CLAD,  ETC.,        .     .     BURNS, 105 

AUGUST, SPENSER, 107 

THE  MORNING  WALK, OKHLENSCIILAGER,   .     .  118 

MAY  SONG,        VON  KIRCHBERG,     .     .120 

SUMMER  PLEASURES, ANON., 121 

SONG, JACOBI, 123 

ENVIABLE  POVERTY,  ....     DALEI, 125 

THE  WALK,       ....  ...     DALKI, 126 

LOVE  ix  IDLENESS,    .     .          ...  DOETE  DE  TROIES,   .        128 


THE  POETRY  OF  THE  FIELDS 


MORNING   IN   THE    COUNTRY. 

WHEN  from  the  opening  chambers  of  the  east 
The  morning  springs,  in  thousand  liveries  drest, 
The  early  larks  their  morning  tribute  pay, 
And,  in  shrill  notes,  salute  the  blooming  day. 
Refreshed  fields  with  pearly  dew  to  shine, 
And  tender  blades  therewith  their  tops  incline. 
Their  painted  leaves  the  unblown  flowers  expand, 
And  with  their  odorous  breath  perfume  the  land. 
The  crowing  cock  and  chattering  hen  awakes 
Dull  sleepy  clowns,  who  know  the  morning  breaks. 
The  herd  his  plaid  around  his  shoulders  throws, 
Grasps  his  dear  crook,  calls  on  his  dog,  and  goes 
Around  the  fold :  he  walks  with  careful  pace, 
And  fallen  clods  sets  in  their  wonted  place ; 

3  (17) 


18  THE     LINNET. 

Then  opes  the  door,  unfolds  his  fleecy  care, 
Ai>d  gladly  sees  them  crop  their  morning  fare ! 
Down  upon  easy  moss  he  lays, 
And  sings  some  charming  shepherdess's  praise. 

THOMSON. 


THE    LINNET. 

WHEN  whinny  braes  are  garlanded  with  gold, 
And,  blithe,  the  lamb  pursues,  in  merry  chase, 
His  twin  around  the  bush ;  the  Linnet,  then, 
Within  the  prickly  fortress  builds  her  bower, 
And  warmly  lines  it  round,  with  hair  and  wool 
Inwove.     Sweet  minstrel,  may'st  thou  long  delight 
The  whinny  knowe,  and  broomy  brae,  and  bank 
Of  fragrant  birch  !     May  never  fowler's  snare 
Tangle  thy  struggling  foot !     Or,  if  thou'rt  doomed 
Within  the  narrow  cage  thy  dreary  days 
To    pine,   may    ne'er    the    glowing    wire   (oh,   crime 

accursed  !N 

Quench,  with  fell  agony,  the  shrivelling  eye  ! 
Deprived  of  air  and  freedom,  shall  the  light 
Of  day,  thy  only  pleasure,  be  denied  ? 


THE     GRASSHOPPER. 

j3ut  thy  own  song  will  still  be  left ;  with  it, 
Darkling,  thou'lt  soothe  the  lingering  hours  away ; 
And  thou  wilt  learn  to  find  thy  triple  perch, 
Thy  seed-box,  and  thy  beverage  saffron-tinged. 

GKAHAME. 


THE    GRASSHOPPER. 

HAPPY  insect !  what  can  be 
In  happiness  compared  to  thee  ? 
Fed  with  nourishment  divine, 
The  dewy  Morning's  gentle  wine ! 
Nature  waits  upon  thee  still, 
And  thy  verdant  cup  does  fill ; 
'Tis  filled  wherever  thou  dost  tread, 
Nature's  self's  thy  Ganymede, 
Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
Happier  than  the  happiest  king ! 
All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see, 
All  the  plants  belong  to  thee ; 
All  that  summer-hours  produce, 
Fertile  made  with  early  juice  : 


20  THE    GRASSHOPPER. 

Man  for  thee  does  sow  and  plough ; 

Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou ! 

Thou  dost  innocently  joy, 

Nor  does  thy  luxury  destroy. 

The  shepherd  gladly  heareth  thee, 

More  harmonious  than  he. 

Thee  country  hinds  with  gladness  hear, 

Prophet  of  the  ripened  year  ! 

Thee  Phoebus  loves,  and  does  inspirp  : 

Phoebus  is  himself  thy  sire. 

To  thee  of  all  things  upon  earth, 

Life  is  no  longer  than  thy  mirth. 

Happy  insect !  happy  thou, 

Dost  neither  age  nor  winter  know : 

But  when  thou'st  drunk,  and  danced,  and  sung 

Thy  fill,  the  flowery  leaves  among, 

(Voluptuous,  and  wise  withal, 

Epicurean  animal !) 

Sated  with  thy  summer  feast, 

Thou  retir'st  to  endless  rest. 

COWLEY. 


TO     BLOSSOMS.  21 

TO    BLOSSOMS. 

FAIRE  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree, 

Why  do  yee  fall  so  fast? 

Your  date  is  not  so  past, 
But  you  may  stay  yet  here  awhile 

To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last. 

What,  were  ycc  born  to  be 

An  houre  or  half's  delight, 

o       " 

And  so  to  bid  good  night  ? 
'Twas  pitie  nature  brought  yee  forth 
Meerly  to  shew  your  worth, 
And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 

May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave : 

And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride, 
Like  you,  awhile  they  glide 

Into  the  grave. 

HERRICK. 


22  FROM     RURAL    SPORTS. 

FROM    RURAL    SPORTS. 

'Tis  not  that  rural  sports  alone  invite, 
But  all  the  grateful  country  breathes  delight ; 
Here  blooming  Health  exerts  her  gentle  reign, 
And  strings  the  sinews  of  the  industrious  swain. 
Soon  as  the  morning  lark  salutes  the  day, 
Through  dewy  fields  I  take  my  frequent  way, 
Where  I  behold  the  farmer's  early  care 
In  the  revolving  labors  of  the  year. 

When  the  fresh  Spring  in  all  her  state  is  crowned, 
And  high  luxuriant  grass  o'erspreads  the  ground, 
The  laborer  with  a  bending  scythe  is  seen, 
Shaving  the  surface  of  the  waving  green  ; 
Of  all  her  native  pride  disrobes  the  land, 
And  meads  lays  waste  before  his  sweeping  hand  ; 
While  with  the  mounting  sun  the  meadow  glows, 
The  fading  herbage  round  he  loosely  throws ; 
But,  if  some  sign  portend  a  lasting  shower 
Th'  experienced  swain  foresees  the  coming  hour ; 
His  sunburnt  hands  the  scattering  fork  forsake, 
And  ruddy  damsels  ply  the  saving  rake  ; 
In  rising  hills  the  fragrant  harvest  grows, 

And  spreads  along  the  field  in  equal  rows. 

GAT. 


OL>E     TO     LEVEN    WATER. 

ODE    TO    LEVEN    WATER. 

Ox  Leven's  banks,  while  free  to  rove, 
And  tune  the  rural  pipe  to  love, 
I  envied  not  the  happiest  swain 
That  ever  trod  the  Arcadian  plain. 

Pure  stream,  in  whose  transparent  wave 
My  youthful  limbs  I  wont  to  lave ; 
JSTo  torrents  stain  thy  limpid  source, 
No  rocks  impede  thy  dimpling  course, 
That  sweetly  warbles  o'er  its  bed, 
With  white,  round,  polished  pebbles  spread  ; 
While  lightly  poised  the  scaly  brood 
In  myriads  cleave  thy  crystal  flood  ; 
The  springing  trout  in  speckled  pride, 
The  salmon,  monarch  of  the  tide ; 
The  ruthless  pike,  intent  on  war, 
The  silver  eel,  and  mottled  par. 
Devolving  from  thy  parent  lake, 
A  charming  maze  thy  waters  make, 
By  bowers  of  birch,  and  groves  of  pine, 
And  edges  flowered  with  eglantine. 
Still  on  thy  banks,  so  gaily  green 
May  numerous  herds  and  flocks  be  seen, 


21  A    WISH 

And  lasses  chanting  o'er  the  pail, 
And  shepherds  piping  in  the  dale  ; 
And  ancient  faith  that  knows  no  guile, 
And  industry  embrowned  with  toil ; 
And  hearts  resolved  and  hands  prepared 
The  blessings  they  enjoy  to  guard ! 


SMOLLETT. 


A   WISH. 

1782. 

MINE  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill ; 
A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear ; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill, 
With  many  a  fall,  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow  oft,  beneath  my  thatch, 
Shall  twitter  from  her  clay-built  nest ; 
Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  lift  the  latch, 
And  share  my  meal,  a  welcome  guest; 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring 
Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the  dew ; 
And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet  gown  and  apron  blue. 


TO     A     SKYLARK.  25 


The  village  church  among  the  trees, 
Where  first  our  marriage-vows  were  given, 
With  merry  peals  shall  swell  the  breeze, 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  heaven. 


TO   A   SKYLARK. 

ETHEREAL  minstrel !  pilgrim  of  the  sky ! 
Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound  ? 
Or,  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground  ? 
Thy  nest,  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still ! 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 

Mount,  daring  warbler  ! — that  love-prompted  strain 

('Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond) 

Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain  : 

Yet  might'st  thou  seem,  proud  privilege  !  to  sing 

All  independent  of  the  leafy  spring. 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood,— 
A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine ; 


26  E  N  G  L  I  S  H     S  C  E  N  E  R  Y. 

Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 
Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine  : 
Type  of  the  wise  who  soar,  but  never  roam  ; 
True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  arid  Home. 

WORDSWORTH, 


ENGLISH   SCENERY. 

How  oft  upon  yon  eminence  our  pace 

Has  slackened  to  a  pause,  and  we  have  borne 

The  ruffling  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  blew, 

While  Admiration,  feeding  at  the  eye, 

And  still  unsated,  dwelt  upon  the  scene. 

Thence  with  what  pleasure  have  we  just  discerned 

The  distant  plough  slow  moving,  and  beside 

His  laboring  team,  that  swerved  not  from  the  track, 

The  sturdy  swain  diminished  to  a  boy  ! 

Here  Ouse,  slow  winding  through  a  level  plain 

Of  spacious  meads,  with  cattle  sprinkled  o'er, 

Conducts  the  eye  along  its  sinuous  course 

Delighted.     There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bank, 

Stand,  never  overlooked,  our  favorite  elms, 

That  screen  the  herdsman's  solitary  hut ; 


ENGLISH    SCENERY.  27 

While  far  beyond,  and  overthwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale, 
The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  clouds ; 
Displaying  on  its  varied  side  the  grace 
Of  hedge-row  beauties  numberless,  square  tower, 
Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bells 
Just  undulates  upon  the  listening  ear, 
Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages,  remote. 
Scenes  must  be  beautiful  which,  daily  viewed, 
Please  daily,  and  whose  novelty  survives 
Long  knowledge  and  the  scrutiny  of  years. 
Praise  justly  due  to  those  that  I  describe. 
Nor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds, 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  Nature.     Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind  ; 
Unnumbered  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 


28  ENGLISH     SCENERY. 

Through  the  cleft  rock,  and  chiming  as  they  fall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 
But  animated  nature  sweeter  still, 
To  soothe  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 
Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  livelong  night :  nor  these  alone,  whose  notes 
Nice-fingered  art  must  emulate  in  vain, 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud, 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 
Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  forever  reigns, 
And  only  there,  please  highly  for  their  sake. 

Peace  to  the  artist,  whose  ingenious  thought 
Devised  the  weatherhouse,  that  useful  toy ! 
Fearless  of  humid  air  and  gathering  rains, 
Forth  steps  the  man — an  emblem  of  myself! 
More  delicate,  his  timorous  mate  retires. 
When  Winter  soaks  the  fields,  and  female  feet, 
Too  weak  to  struggle  with  tenacious  clay, 


ENGLISH     SCENERY.  29 

Or  ford  the  rivulets,  arc  best  at  home, 

The  task  of  new  discoveries  falls  on  me. 

At  such  a  season,  and  with  such  a  charge, 

Once  went  I  forth  ;  and  found,  till  then  unknown, 

A  cottage,  whither  oft  we  since  repair  : 

'Tis  perched  upon  the  green  hill  top,  but  close 

Environed  with  a  ring  of  branching  elms, 

That  overhang  the  thatch,  itself  unseen 

Peeps  at  the  vale  below ;  so  thick  beset 

With  foliage  of  such  dark  redundant  growth, 

I  called  the  low-roofed  lodge  the  Peasant's  Nest. 

And,  hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  remote 

From  such  unplcasing  sounds  as  haunt  the  ear 

In  village  or  in  town,  the  bay  of  curs 

Incessant,  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels, 

And  infants  clamorous,  whether  pleased  or  pained, 

Oft  have  I  wished  the  peaceful  covert  mine. 

Here,  I  have  said,  at  least  I  should  possess 

The  poet's  treasure,  silence,  and  indulge 

The  dreams  of  fancy,  tranquil  and  secure. 

Vain  thought !  the  dweller  in  that  still  retreat 

Dearly  obtains  the  refuge  it  affords. 

Its  elevated  site  forbids  the  wretch 

To  drink  sweet  waters  of  the  crystal  well ; 


30  ENGLISH     SCENEHY. 

He  dips  his  bowl  into  the  weedy  ditch, 
And,  heavy  laden,  brings  his  beverage  home, 
Far  fetched  and  little  worth ;  nor  seldom  waits, 
Dependent  on  the  baker's  punctual  call, 
To  hear  his  creaking  panniers  at  the  door, 
Angry  and  sad,  and  his  last  crust  consumed. 
So  farewell  envy  of  the  Peasant's  Nest ! 
If  solitude  make  scant  the  means  of  life, 
Society  for  me  ! — thou  seeming  sweet, 
Be  still  a  pleasing  object  in  my  view; 
My  visit  still,  but  never  mine  abode. 

Not  distant  far,  a  length  of  colonnade 
Invites  us.     Monument  of  ancient  taste, 
Now  scorned,  but  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 
Our  fathers  knew  the  value  of  a  screen 
From  sultry  suns ;  and  in  their  shaded  walks 
And  long-protracted  bowers,  enjoyed  at  noon 
The  gloom  and  coolness  of  declining  day. 
We  bear  our  shades  about  us  ;  self-deprived 
Of  other  screen,  the  thin  umbrella  spread, 
And  range  an  Indian  waste  without  a  tree. 
Thanks  to  Benevolus1 — he  spares  me  yet 
These  chestnuts  ranged  in  corresponding  lines: 
And,  though  himself  so  polished,  still  reprieves 

1  John  Courtney  TLrot-kuiorton,  Esq.,  of  Wes-ton  Underwood, 


E  N  0  L  I  S  JI     S  C  E  N  E  H  Y.  31 

The  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade. 

Descending  now  (but  cautious,  lest  too  fast) 
A  sudden  steep  upon  a  rustic  bridge, 
We  pass  a  gulf,  in  which  the  willows  dip 
Their  pendent  boughs,  stooping  as  if  to  drink. 
Hence,  ankle-deep  in  moss  and  flowery  thyme, 
We  mount  again,  and  feel  at  every  step 
Our  foot  half  sunk  in  hillocks  green  arid  soft, 
Raised  by  the  mole,  the  miner  of  the  soil. 
He,  not  unlike  the  great  ones  of  mankind, 
Disfigures  earth  :   and,  plotting  in  the  dark, 
Toils  much  to  earn  a  monumental  pile, 
That  may  record  the  mischiefs  he  has  done. 

The  summit  gained,  behold  the  proud  alcove 
That  crowns  it !  yet  not  all  its  pride  secures 
The  grand  retreat  from  injuries  impressed 
By  rural  carvers,  who  with  knives  deface 
The  pannels,  leaving  an  obscure,  rude  name, 
In  characters  uncouth,  and  spelt  amiss. 
So  strong  the  zeal  to  immortalize  himself 
Beats  in  the  breast  of  man,  that  e'en  a  few, 
Few  transient  years,  won  from  the  abyss  abhorred 
Of  blank  oblivion,  seem  a  glorious  prize, 
And  even  to  a  clown.     Now  roves  the  eye ; 


22  ENGLISH    SCENERY. 

And,  posted  on  this  speculative  height, 

Exults  in  its  command.     The  sheepfold  here 

Pours  out  its  fleecy  tenants  o'er  the  glebe. 

At  first,  progressive  as  a  stream,  they  seek 

The  middle  field ;  but,  scattered  by  degrees, 

Each  to  his  choice,  soon  whiten  all  the  land. 

There,     from     the     sunburnt     hay-field     homeward 

creeps 

The  loaded  wain ;  while,  lightened  of  its  charge, 
The  wain  that  meets  it  passes  swiftly  by  ; 
The  boorish  driver  leaning  o'er  his  team 
Vociferous,  and  impatient  of  delay. 
Nor  less  attractive  is  the  woodland  scene, 
Diversified  with  trees  of  every  growth, 
Alike,  yet  various.     Here  the  gray  smooth  trunks 
Of  ash,  or  lime,  or  beech,  distinctly  shine, 
Within  the  twilight  of  their  distant  shades ; 
There,  lost  behind  a  rising  ground,  the  woods 
Seem  sunk,  and  shortened  to  its  topmost  boughs. 
No  tree  in  all  the  grove  but  has  its  charms, 
Though  each  its  hue  peculiar ;  paler  some, 
And  of  a  warmish  gray  ;   the  willow  such, 
And  poplar,  that  with  silver  lines  his  leaf, 
<Ynd  ash  far  stretching  his  umbrageous  arm  ; 


THE     HILLSIDE     FLOWER.  33 

Of  deeper  green  the  elm  ;  and  deeper  still, 

Lord  of  the  woods,  the  long-surviving  oak. 

Some-glossy  leaved,  and  shining  in  the  sun, 

The  maple,  and  the  beech  of  oily  nuts 

Prolific,  and  the  lime  at  dewy  eve 

Diffusing  odors  :  nor  unnoted  pass 

The  sycamore,  capricious  in  attire, 

Now  green,  now  tawny,  and,  ere  autumn  yet 

Have  changed  the  woods,  in  scarlet  honors  bright, 

O'er  these,  but  far  beyond  (a  spacious  map 

Of  hill  and  valley  interposed  between), 

The  Ouse,  dividing  the  well-watered  land, 

Now  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  now  retires, 

As  bashful,  yet  impatient  to  be  seen. 

COWPER. 


THE   HILLSIDE    FLOWER. 

FLOWER  upon  the  green  hillside, 

Thou,  to  shun  the  threatening  blast, 

In  the  grass  thy  head  dost  hide, 
By  the  tempest  overpast. 

Then,  to  greet  the  azure  skies, 
And  to  feel  the  soothing  sun, 


34  HIE    HILLSIDE    FLO  WEE. 

Brighter — sweeter — dost  thou  rise ! 
Tell  me,  flower,  how  this  is  done ! 

"  I  will  tell  thee,  as  a  friend, 

Artless — timid — whispering  low ; 

At  the  blast,  'tis  good  to  bend ! 
He  who  made  me,  taught  me  so. 

"  While  his  teaching  I  obey, 
I  but  fall  to  rise,  and  stand, 

Brighter  for  the  stormy  day, 
Leaning  on  his  viewless  hand. 

"  When  to  him  I've  lowly  bowed, 
He  with  freshness  fills  my  cup 

From  the  angry,  scowling  cloud ; 
Gently  then  He  lifts  me  up. 

"  So  I  sink, — and  so  I  rise— 
In  the  dark  or  sunny  hour, 
Minding  Him  who  rules  the  skies : — 

He's  my  God ;  and  I'm  his  flower  !" 

GOULD. 


THE     SKYLARK.  35 


THE    SKYLARK. 

BIRD  of  the  wilderness, 

Blithesome  and  cumberless, 
Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea! 

Emblem  of  happiness, 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place — 
Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee  ! 

Wild  is  thy  lay,  and  loud, 

Far  in  the  downy  cloud, 
Love  gives  it  energy,  love  gave  it  birth. 

Where,  on  thy  dewy  wing, 

Where  art  thou  journeying  ? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green, 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day, 

Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing  away  ! 

Then,  when  the  gloaming  comes, 

Low  in  the  heather  blooms, 


36  SUNRISE. 

Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be ! 
Emblem  of  happiness, 
Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place, — 

Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 


HOGG. 


SUNRISE. 

I  MARVEL  not,  0  Sun  !  that  unto  thee 
In  adoration  man  should  bow  the  knee, 

And  pour  his  prayers  of  mingled  awe  and  love ; 
For  like  a  God  thou  art,  and  on  thy  way 
Of  glory  sheddest  with  benignant  ray, 

Beauty,  and  life,  and  joyance  from  above. 

No  longer  let  these  mists  thy  radiance  shroud, — 
These  cold  raw  mists  that  chill  the  comfortless  day  , 

But  shed  thy  splendor  through  the  opening  cloud, 

And   cheer  the   earth    once  more.     The   languid 

flowers 
Lie  odorless,  bent  drvvn  with  heavy  rain, 

Earth  asks  thy  presence,  saturate  with  showers  ! 
0  lord  of  light!  put  forth  thy  beams  again, 

For  damp  and  cheerless  are  the  gloomy  hours. 

SOUTH  EY. 


HIE     GREEN     PASTURES.  37 

THE    GREEN   PASTURES. 

I  WALKED  in  a  field  of  fresh  clover  this  morn, 
Where  lambs  played  so  merrily  under  the  trees, 

Or  rubbed  their  soft  coats  on  a  naked  old  thorn, 
Or  nibbled  the  clover,  or  rested  at  ease. 

And  under  the  hedge  ran  a  clear  water-brook, 

To  drink  from,  when  thirsty,  or  weary  with  play ; 

So  gay  did  the  daisies  and  buttercups  look, 

That  I  thought  little  lambs  must  be  happy  all  day. 

And  when  I  remember  the  beautiful  psalm, 

That  tells  about  Christ  and  his  pastures  so  green  ; 

I  know  He  is  willing  to  make  me  his  lamb, 
And  happier  far  than  the  lambs  I  have  seen. 

If  I  drink  of  the  waters,  so  peaceful  and  still, 
That  flow  in  this  field,  I  forever  shall  live  ; 

If  I  love  Him,  and  seek  his  commands  to  fulfil, 
A  place  in  his  sheephold  to  me  lie  will  give. 

The  lambs  are  at  peace  in  the  fields  when  they  play, 
The  long  summer's  day  in  contentment  they  spend; 

Bat  happier  I,  if  in  God's  holy  way, 

I  try  to  walk  always,  with  Christ  for  my  friend. 

M.  L.  DUNCAN. 


38  THE    CUCKOO. 

THE   LARK. 

Lo,  hear  the  gentle  Lark,  weary  of  rest, 
From  his  moist  cabinet  mounts  up  on  high, 
And  wakes  the  morning  from  whose  silver  breast 
The  sun  ariseth  in  his  majesty; 
Who  does  the  world  so  gloriously  behold, 
The  cedar  tops  and  hills  seem  burnished  gold. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 


THE    CUCKOO. 

WHENCE  is  the  magic  pleasure  of  the  sound  ? 

How  do  we  long  recall  the  very  tree, 

Or  bush,  near  which  we  stood,  when  on  the  ear 

The  unexpected  note,  cuckoo!  again, 

Arid  yet  again  came  down  the  budding  vale? 

It  is  the  voice  of  spring  among  the  trees  ; 

It  tells  of  lengthening  days,  of  coming  blooms  ; 

It  is  the  symphony  of  many  a  song. 

But,  there,  the  stranger  flies  close  to  the  ground, 

With  hawk-like  pinion,  of  a  leaden  blue. 

Poor  wanderer  !  from  hedge  to  hedge  she  flies, 

And  trusts  her  offspring  to  another's  care : 


T  II  E     B  L  A  C  K  E  1  K  D.  39 

The  sooty-plumed  hedge-sparrow  frequent  acts 
The  foster-mother,  warming  into  life 
The  youngling,  destined  to  supplant  her  own. 
Meanwhile,  the  Cuckoo  sings  her  idle  song, 
Monotonous,  yet  sweet,  now  here,  now  there, 
Herself  but  rarely  seen ;  nor  does  she  cease 
Her  changeless  note,  until  the  broom,  full  blown, 
Gives  warning  that  her  time  for  flight  is  come. 
Thus  ever  journeying  on,  from  land  to  land, 
She,  sole  of  all  the  innumerous  feathered  tribes, 

Passes  a  stranger's  life,  without  a  home. 

GRAIIAME. 


THE    BLACKBIRD 

WHEN    snowdrops     die,     and    the     green    primrose 

leaves 

Announce  the  coming  flower,  the  Merle's  note, 
Mellifluous,  rich,  deep-toned,  fills  all  the  vale, 
And  charms  the  ravished  ear.      The  hawthorn  bush, 
New-budded,  is  his  perch ;  there  the  gray  dawn 
He  hails;  and  there,  with  parting  light,  concludes 
His  melody.     There,  when  the  buds  begin 
To  break,  he  lays  the  fibrous  roots ;  and,  sec, 


40  THE    BLACKBIRD. 

His  jetty  breast  embrowned  ;  the  rounded  clay 

His  jetty  breast  has  soiled  :  but  now  complete, 

His  partner,  and  his  helper  in  the  work, 

Happy  assumes  possession  of  her  home ; 

While  he,  upon  a  neighboring  tree,  his  lay, 

More  richly  full,  melodiously  renews. 

When    twice    seven    days    have    run,    the    moment 

snatch, 

That  she  has  flitted  off  her  charge,  to  cool 
Her  thirsty  bill,  dipt  in  the  babbling  brook, 
Then  silently,  on  tiptoe  raised,  look  in, 
Admire  :  xfive  cupless  acorns,  darkly  specked, 
Delight  the  eye,  warm  to  the  cautious  touch. 
In  seven  days  more  expect  the  fledgeless  young, 
Five  gaping  bills.     With  busy  wing,  and  eye 
Quick-darting,  all  alert,  the  parent  pair 
Gather  the  sustenance  which  Heaven  bestows. 
But  music  ceases,  save  at  dewy  fall 
Of  eve,  when,  nestling  o'er  her  brood,  the  dam 
Has  stilled  them  all  to  rest :  or  at  the  hour 
Of  doubtful  dawning  gray  ;  then  from  his  wing 
Her  partner  turns  his  yellow  bill,  and  chants 

His  solitary  song  of  joyous  praise. 

GRAIIAME. 


TO     DAFFODILS. 

TO    DAFFODILS. 

FAIRE  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 
You  haste  away  so  soone ; 
As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 
Has  not  attained  his  noone : 
Stay,  stay, 

Until  the  hastening  day 
Has  run 

But  to  the  even-song ; 
And,  having  prayed  together,  we 

Will  goe  with  you  along  ! 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you ; 
We  have  as  short  a  spring, 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 
As  you,  or  any  thing : 

We  die, 
As  your  hours  doe  ;  and  drie 

Away 

Like  to  the  summer's  raine, 
Or  as  the  pearles  of  morning  dew, 


Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 


HER  RICK 


ODE    ON     SPRING 


ODE    ON    SPRING, 

Lo  !  where  the  rosy-bosomed  Hours, 

Fair  Venus'  train,  appear, 
Disclose  the  long-expecting  flowers. 

And  wake  the  purple  year  ! 
The  Attic  warbler  pours  her  throat, 
Kesponsive  to  the  cuckoo's  note, 

The  untaught  harmony  of  spring : 
While,  whispering  pleasure  as  they  fly, 
Cool  Zephyrs  through  the  clear  blue  sky 

Their  gathered  fragrance  fling. 

Where'er  the  oak's  thick  branches  stretch 

A  broader,  browner  shade, 
Where'er  the  rude  and  moss-grown  beech 

O'ercanopies  the  glade, 
Beside  some  water's  rushy  brink 
With  me  the  Muse  shall  sit,  and  think 

(At  ease  reclined  in  rustic  state) 
How  vain  the  ardor  of  the  crowd, 
How  low,  how  little  are  the  proud, 

How  indigent  the  great ! 


r  a:r  Venus'  train,  a;?::  ear. 


ODE     ON    SPRING.  43 

Still  is  the  toiling  hand  of  Care  ; 

The  panting  herds  repose: 
Yet,  hark,  how  through  the  peopled  air 

The  busy  murmur  glows  ! 
The  insect-youth  are  on  the  wing, 
Eager  to  taste  the  honeyed  spring, 

And  float  amid  the  liquid  noon: 
.Some  lightly  o'er  the  current  skim, 
Some  show  their  gayly-gilded  trim 

Quick-glancing  to  the  sun. 

To  Contemplation's  sober  eye 

Such  is  the  race  of  man  : 
And  they  that  creep,  and  they  that  fly, 

Shall  end  where  they  began. 
Alike  the  Busy  and  the  Gay 
But  flutter  through  life's  little  day, 

In  Fortune's  varying  colors  drest : 
Brushed  by  the  hand  of  rough  Mischance, 
Or  chilled  by  Age,  their  airy  dance 

They  leave,  in  dust  to  rest. 

Methinks  I  hear,  in  accents  low, 
The  sportive  kind  reply: 


44  MAY. 

Poor  moralist !  and  what  art  thou  ? 

A  solitary  fly ! 

Thy  joys  no  glittering  female  meets, 
No  hive  hast  thou  of  hoarded  sweets, 

No  painted  plumage  to  display : 
On  hasty  wings  thy  youth  is  flown ; 
Thy  sun  is  set,  thy  spring  is  gone — 

We  frolic  while  'tis  May. 


GRAY. 


MAY. 

How  shall  I  meet  thee,  Summer,  wont  to  fill 
My  heart  with  gladness,  when  thy  pleasant  tide 
First  came,  and  on  each  coomb's  romantic  side 

Was  heard  the  distant  cuckoo's  hollow  bill? 

Fresh    flowers   shall    fringe   the   wild    brink    of  the 

stream, 

As  with  the  song  of  joyancc  and  of  hope 
The  hedge-rows  shall  ring  loud,  and  on  the  slope 

The  poplars  sparkle  on  the  transient  beam, 

The  shrubs  and  laurels  which  I  love  to  tend, 

Thinking  their  May-tide  fragrance  might  delight, 


TO    A     MOUNTAIN     DAISY.  45 

\\ith  many  a  peaceful  charm,  thee,  my  best  friend, 
Shall  put  forth  their  green  shoot,  and  cheer  the 

sight ! 
But  I  shall  mark  their  hues  with  sickening  eyes, 

And  weep  for  her  who  in  the  cold  grave  lies  ! 

BOWLES. 


TO    A    MOUNTAIN    DAISY. 

ON  TURNING  ONE  DOWN  WITH  THE  PLOUGH. 

WEE,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower 
Thou'st  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem  ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet, 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet ! 

Wi'  speckled  breast, 
When  upward-springing,  blithe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth  : 


4G  TO     ^     MOUNTAIN     DAISY. 

Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 
High  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield, 
But  thou  beneath  the  random  bield 

0'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  .share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  flow'ret  of  the  rural  shade ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betrayed, 

And  guileless  trust, 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soiled,  is  laid- 

Low  i'  the  dust. 


TO    A    MOUNTAIN    DAISY.  47 

Sucli  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred ! 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore, 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er  ! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  given, 
Who  long  with  wants  arid  woes  has  striven, 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven 

To  mis'ry's  brink, 
Till  wrenched  of  every  stay  but  Heaven, 

He,  ruined,  sink  ! 

Even  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 
That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date  ; 
Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 

Shall  be  thy  doom  ! 

BURNS. 


48  DESCRIPTION    OF    MORNING. 

DESCRIPTION    OF    MORNING. 

BUT  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell? 
The  wild  brook  babbling  down  the  mountain  side  ; 
The  lowing  herd  ;  the  sheepfold's  simple  bell ; 
The  pipe  of  early  shepherd  dim  descried 
In  the  lone  valley ;  echoing  far  and  wide 
The  clamorous  horn  along  the  cliffs  above ; 
The  hollow  murmur  of  the  ocean-tide  ; 
The  hum  of  bees,  the  linnet's  lay  of  love, 
And  the  full  choir  that  wakes  the  universal  grove. 

The  cottage  curs  at  early  pilgrim  bark  ; 
Crowned  with  her  pail  the  tripping  milkmaid  sings  ; 
The  whistling  ploughman  stalks  afield  ;  and,  hark  ! 
Down  the  rough  slope  the  ponderous  wagon  rings ; 
Thro'  rustling  corn  the  hare  astonished  springs  ; 
Slow  tolls  the  village  clock  the  drowsy  hour ; 
The  partridge  bursts  away  on  whirring  wings ; 
Deep  mourns  the  turtle  in  sequestered  bower, 
And  shrill  lark  carols  clear  from  her  aerial  tour. 

0  Nature,  how  in  every  charm  supreme  ! 
Whose  votaries  feast  on  raptures  ever  new ! 


P  11 1  M  R  0  S  E  S.  4\) 

0  for  the  voice  and  fire  of  seraphim, 

To  sing  thy  glories  with  devotion  due  ! 

BEATTIR. 


PRIMROSES. 

WHY  doe  ye  weep,  sweet  babes  ?     Can  tears 
Speak  griefe  in  you, 
Who  were  but  borne, 
Just  as  the  modest  morne 
Teemed  her  refreshing  dew  ? 
Alas !  you  have  not  known  that  shower 
That  marres  a  flower  ; 
Nor  felt  th'  unkind 
Breath  of  a  blasting  wind ; 
Nor  are  yc  worne  with  yeares  ; 

Or  wrap't,  as  we, 
Who  think  it  strange  to  see 
Such  pretty  flowers  (like  to  orphans  young), 
To  speak  by  teares  before  ye  have  a  tongue. 

Speak,  whimp'ring  younglings  ;  and  make  known 
The  reason  why 
Ye  droop,  and  weep. 

7 


50  FROM    AN     ODE    TO    SUMMER. 

Is  it  for  want  of  sleep  ; 
Or  childish  lullabie  ? 
Or,  that  ye  have  not  seen  as  yet 
The  violet  ? 
Or  brought  a  kisse 
From  that  sweetheart  to  this  ? 
No,  no  ;  this  sorrow,  shown 

By  your  teares  shed, 
Would  have  this  lecture  read, 
"  That  things  of  greatest,  so  of  meanest  worth, 
Conceived  with  grief   are,   and  with  teares  brought 

forth." 

HERIUCK. 


FROM    AN   ODE   TO   SUMMER. 

BUT  when  mild  Morn,  in  saffron  stole, 
First  issues  from  her  eastern  goal, 
Let  not  my  due  feet  fail  to  climb 
Some  breezy  summit's  brow  sublime, 
Whence  Nature's  universal  face 
Illumined  smiles  with  new-born  grace ; 
The  misty  streams  that  wind  below, 
With  silver-sparkling  lustre  glow ; 


FROM     AN     ODE     TO     SUMMER.  51 

The  groves  and  castled  cliffs  appear 
Invested  all  in  radiance  clear ; 
0  !   every  village  charm  beneath  ! 
The  smoke  that  mounts  in  azure  wreath  ! 

0  beauteous  rural  interchange  ! 
The  simple  spire,  and  elmy  grange  ! 
Content,  indulging  blissful  hours, 
Whistles  o'er  the  fragrant  flowers, 
And  cattle,  roused  to  pasture  new, 
Shake  jocund  from  their  sides  the  dew. 

'Tis  thou  alone,  0  Summer  mild, 
Canst  bid  me  carol  wood-notes  wild : 
Whene'er  I  view  thy  genial  scenes, 
Thy  waving  woods,  embroidered  greens, 
What  fires  within  my  bosom  wake, 
How  glows  my  mind  the  reed  to  take  ! 
What  charms  like  thine  the  muse  can  call, 
Witli  Y.  horn  'tis  youth  and  laughter  all ; 
With  whom  each  field's  a  paradise, 
And  all  the  globe  a  bower  of  bliss  ! 
With  thee  conversing  all  the  day, 

1  meditate  my  lightsome  lay. 
These  pedant  cloisters  let  me  leave, 
To  breathe  my  votive  song  at  eve 


52  FIELD    SPOUTS. 


In  valleys  where  mild  whispers  use, 
Of  shade  and  stream  to  court  the  muse, 
While  wandering  o'er  the  brook's  dim  verge, 
I  hear  the  stockdove's  dying  dirge. 


WAKTON 


FIELD   SPORTS. 

NEXT  will  I  sing  the  valiant  falcon's  fame  ; 
Aerial  fights,  where  no  confederate  brute 
Joins  in  the  bloody  fray  ;  but  bird  with  bird 
Jousts  in  mid  air.     Lo  !  at  his  siege  the  hern, 
Upon  the  bank  of  some  small  purling  brook, 
Observant  stands  to  take  his  scaly  prize, 
Himself  another's  game.     For  mark  behind 
The  wily  falconer  creeps:  his  grazing  horse 
Conceals  the  treacherous  foe,  and  on  his  fist 
Th'  unhooded  falcon  sits  :  with  eager  eyes 
She  meditates  her  prey,  and,  in  her  wild 
Conceit,  already  plumes  the  dying  bird. 
Up  springs  the  hern,  redoubling  every  stroke, 
Conscious  of  danger,  stretches  far  away 
With  busy  pennons  and  projected  beak, 


F  I  E  L  D     S  P  0  II  T  S.  53 

Piercing  th'  opponent  clouds  :  the  falcon  swift 

Follows  at  speed,  mounts  as  lie  mounts,  for  hope 

Gives  vigor  to  her  wings.     Another  soon 

Strains  after  to  support  the  bold  attack, 

Perhaps  a  third.     As  in  some  winding  creek, 

On  proud  Iberia's  shore,  the  corsairs  sly 

Lurk  waiting  to  surprise  a  British  sail, 

Full  freighted  from  Hetruria's  friendly  ports, 

Or  rich  Byzantium  ;  after  her  they  scud, 

Dashing  the  spumy  waves  with  equal  oars, 

And    spreading    all    their    shrouds ;    she    makes  the 

main 

Inviting  every  gale,  nor  yet  forgets 
To  clear  her  deck,  and  tell  th'  insulting  foe, 
In  peals  of  thunder,  Britons  cannot  fear ; 
So  flies  the  hern  pursued,  but  fighting  flies. 
Warm  grows  the  conflict,  every  nerve's  employed ; 
Now  through  the  yielding  element  they  soar 
Aspiring  high,  then  sink  at  once,  and  rove 
In  trackless  mazes  through  the  troubled  sky. 
No  rest,  no  peace.     The  falcon  hovering  flies 
Balanced  in  air,  and  confidently  bold 
Hangs  o'er  him  like  a  cloud,  then  aims  her  blow 
Full  at  his  destined  head.     The  watchful  hern 


54  FIELD     SPOUTS. 

Shoots  from  her  like  a  blazing  meteor  swift 
That  gilds  the  night,  eludes  her  talons  keen 
And  pointed  beak,  and  gains  a  length  of  way. 
Observe  th'  attentive  crowd ;   all  hearts  are  fixed 
On  this  important  war,  and  pleasing  hope 
Glows  in  each  breast.     The  vulgar  and  the  great, 

o  cD  ' 

Equally  happy  now,  with  freedom  share 
The  common  joy.     The  shepherd-boy  forgets 
His  bleating  care  ;  the  laboring  hind  lets  fall 
His  grain  unsown  ;  in  transport  lost,  he  robs 
Th'  expecting  furrow,  and  in  wild  amaze 
The  gazing  village  point  their  eyes  to  heaven. 
Where  is  the  tongue  can  speak  the  falconer's  cares, 
'Twixt  hopes  and  fears,  as  in  a  tempest  tost? 
His  fluttering  heart,  his  varying  cheeks  confess 
His  inward  woe.     Now  like  a  wearied  stag, 
That  stands  at  bay,  the  horn  provokes  their  rage  ; 
Close  by  his  languid  wing,  in  downy  plumes 
Covers  his  fatal  beak,  and  cautious  hides 
The  well-dissembled  fraud.     The  falcon  darts 
Like  lightning  from  above,  and  in  her  breast 

Receives  the  latent  death :  down  plump  she  falls 

* 
Bounding  from  earth,  and  with  her  trickling  gore 

Defiles  her  gaudy  plumage.     Sec,  alas  ! 


TO    A    SKYLARK.  5 

The  falconer  in  despair,  his  favorite  bird 
Dead  at  his  feet,  as  of  his  dearest  friend 
He  weeps  her  fate  ;  he  meditates  revenge, 
He  storms,  he  foams,  he  gives  a  loose  to  rage  : 
Nor  wants  he  long  the  means ;  the  hern  fatigued, 
Borne  down  by  numbers  yields,  and  prone  on  earth 
He  drops  :  his  cruel  foes  wheeling  around 
Insult  at  will.     The  vengeful  falconer  flies 
Swift  as  an  arrow  shooting  to  their  aid  ; 
Then  muttering  inward  curses  breaks  his  wings, 
And  fixes  in  the  ground  his  hated  beak  ; 
Sees  with  malignant  joy  the  victors  proud 

Smeared  with  his  blood,  and  on  his  marrow  feast. 
******** 

SOMERVILLE. 


TO    A   SKYLARK. 

UP  with  me  !  up  with  me  into  the  clouds  ! 

For  thy  song,  Lark,  is  strong  ; 
Up  with  me  !  up  with  me  into  the  clouds  ! 

Singing,  singing, 
With  clouds  and  sky  about  thee  ringing, 


56  TO     A     SKYLARK. 

Lift  me,  guide  me  till  I  find 
That  spot  which  seems  so  to  thy  mind  ! 

I  have  walked  through  wildernesses  dreary, 

And  to-day  my  heart  is  weary ; 

Had  I  now  the  wings  of  a  Faery, 

Up  to  thee  would  I  fly. 

There  is  madness  about  thee,  and  joy  divine 

In  that  song  of  thine  ; 

Lift  me,  guide  me  high  and  high 

To  thy  banqueting-place  in  the  sky. 

Joyous  as  morning, 
Thou  art  laughing  and  scorning; 
Thou  hast  a  nest  for  thy  love  and  thy  rest, 
And,  though  little  troubled  with  sloth, 
Drunken  Lark  !  thou  wouldst  be  loth 
To  be  such  a  traveller  as  I. 
Happy,  happy  Liver, 
With  a  soul  as  strong  as  a  mountain  river 
Pouring  out  praise  to  the  Almighty  Giver, 
Joy  and  jollity  be  with  us  both  ! 

Alas  !  my  journey,  rugged  and  uneven, 

Through  prickly  moors  or  dusty  ways  must  wind  ; 


K  U  T  II.  5 

But  hearing  thee,  or  others  of  thy  kind, 

As  full  of  gladness  and  as  free  of  heaven, 

I,  with  my  fate  contented,  will  plod  on, 

And  hope  for  higher  raptures,   when   life's   day   i 

done. 

WORDSWORTH. 


RUTH. 

SHE  stood  breast  high  amid  the  corn, 
Clasped  by  the  golden  light  of  morn, 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun, 
Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush 
Deeply  ripened  :  such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born, 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  corn. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell, 
Which  were  blackest  none  can  tell ; 
But  long  lashes  veiled  a  light, 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 


TO     THE    DAISY. 

And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim, 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim  ; — 
Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stocks, 
Praising  God  with  sweetest  looks  : — 

Sure,  I  said,  Heaven  did  not  mean, 
Where  I  reap  tliou  should'st  but  glean  ; 
Lay  thy  sheaf  adown  and  come, 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home. 


TO    THE    DAISY. 

IN  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went. 
From  hill  to  hill,  in  discontent 
Of  pleasure  high  and  turbulent, 

Most  pleased  when  most  uneasy ; 
But  now  my  own  delights  I  make, — 
My  thirst  at  every  rill  can  slake, 
And  gladly  Nature's  love  partake, 

Of  thee,  sweet  Daisy  ! 

Thee  Winter  in  the  garland  wears 
That  thinly  decks  his  few  gray  hairs 


HOOD. 


TO    THE     DAISY.  f>9 

Spring  parts  the  clouds  with  softest  airs, 

That  she  may  sun  thee  ; 
Whole  Summer-fields  are  thine  by  right ; 
And  Autumn,  melancholy  wight ! 
Doth  in  thy  crimson  head  delight, 

When  rains  are  on  thee. 

In  shoals  and  bands,  a  morrice  train, 
Thou  greet'st  the  traveller  in  the  lane  ; 
Pleased  at  his  greeting  thee  again  ; 

Yet  nothing  daunted, 
JSTor  grieved,  if  thou  be  set  at  nought : 
And  oft  alone  in  nooks  remote 
We  meet  thee,  like  a  pleasant  thought, 

When  such  are  wanted. 

Be  violets  in  their  sacred  mews 

The  flowers  the  wanton  Zephyrs  choose  ; 

Proud  be  the  rose,  with  rains  and  dews 

Her  head  impearling ; 
Thou  livest  with  less  ambitious  aim, 
Yet  hast  not  gone  without  thy  fame  : 
Thou  art  indeed  by  many  a  claim 

The  Poet's  darling. 


60  TO    THE     DAISY. 

If  to  a  rock  from  rains  he  fly, 
Or,  some  bright  day  of  April  sky, 
Imprisoned  by  hot  sunshine  lie 

Near  the  green  holly, 
And  wearily  at  length  should  fare  ; 
He  needs  but  look  about,  and  there 
Thou  art ! — a  friend  at  hand,  to  scare 

His  melancholy. 

A  hundred  times,  by  rock  or  bower, 
Ere  thus  I  have  lain  couched  an  hour, 
Have  I  derived  from  thy  sweet  power 

Some  apprehension  ; 
Some  steady  love,  some  brief  delight; 
Some  memory  that  had  taken  flight ; 
Some  chime  of  fancy,  wrong  or  right ; 

Or  stray  invention. 

If  stately  passions  in  me  burn, 

And  one  chance  look  to  thee  should  turn, 

I  drink  out  of  an  humbler  urn 

A  lowlier  pleasure  ; 
The  homely  sympathy  that  heeds 
The  common  life,  our  nature  breeds  ; 


TO    THE    DAISY.  61 

A  wisdom  fitted  to  the  needs 
Of  hearts  at  leisure. 

Fresh  smitten  by  the  morning  ray, 
When  then,  art  up,  alert  and  gay, 
Then,  cheerful  flower !  my  spirits  play 

With  kindred  gladness  : 
And  when,  at  dusk,  by  dews  opprest, 
Thou  sink'st,  the  image  of  thy  rest 
Hath  often  eased  my  pensive  breast 

Of  careful  sadness. 

And  all  day  long  I  number  yet, 
All  seasons  through,  another  debt, 
Which  I,  wherever  thou  art  met, 

To  thce  am  owing ; 
An  instinct  call  it,  a  blind  sense, 
A  happy,  genial  influence, 
Coming  one  knows  not  how,  nor  whence, 

Nor  whither  going. 

Child  of  the  Year  !  that  round  dost  run 
Thy  pleasant  course, — when  day's  begun 
As  ready  to  salute  the  sun 
As  lark  or  leveret, 


62  H  A  II  V  E  S  T. 

Thy  long-tast  praise  tliou  shalt  regain  ; 
Nor  be  less  dear  to  future  men 
Than  in  old  time ; — thou  not  in  vain 
Art  Nature's  favorite. 


WORDSWORTH 


II  A  R  V  E  S  T. 

HERE,  'midst  the  boldest  triumphs  of  her  worth, 

Nature  herself  invites  the  reapers  forth  ; 

Dares  the  keen  sickle  from  its  twelvemonth's  rest, 

And  gives  that  ardor  which  in  every  breast 

From  infancy  to  age  alike  appears, 

When  the  first  sheaf  its  plumy  top  uprcars. 

No  rake  takes  here  what  Heaven  to  all  bestows — 

Children  of  want,  for  you  the  bounty  flows  I 

And  every  cottage  from  the  plenteous  store 

Receives  a  burden  nightly  at  its  door. 

Hark  !  where  the  sweeping  scythe  now  rips  along, 
Each  sturdy  mower,  emulous  and  strong, 
^^^hose  writhing  form  meridian  heat  defies, 
Bends  o'er  his  work,  and  every  sinew7  tries; 
Prostrates  the  waving  treasure  at  his  feet, 
But  spares  the  rising  clover,  short  and  sweet. 


H  A  11  V  E  S  T.  03 

Oome,  Health  !  come,  Jollity !  lightfooted,  come ; 
Here  hold  your  revels,  and  make  this  your  home : 
Each  heart  awaits  and  hails  you  as  its  own  : 
Each  moistened  brow,  that  scorns  to  wear  a  frown. 
Th'  unpeopled  dwelling  mourns  its  tenants  strayed  ; 
E'en  the  domestic  laughing  dairy  maid 
Hies  to  the  field,  the  general  toil  to  share. 
Meanwhile  the  Farmer  quits  his  elbow-chair, 
His  cool  brick  floor,  his  pitcher,  and  his  ease, 
And  braves  the  sultry  beams,  and  gladly  sees 
His  gates  thrown  open,  and  his  team  abroad, 
The  ready  group  attendant  on  his  word, 
To  turn  the  swath,  the  quiv'ring  load  to  rear, 
Or  ply  the  busy  rake,  the  land  to  clear. 
Summer's  light  garb  itself  now  cumb'rous  grown, 
Each  his  thin  doublet  in  the  shade  throws  down  ; 
Where  oft  the  mastiff  skulks  with  half-shut  eye, 
And  rouses  at  the  stranger  passing  by  ; 
Whilst  unrestrained  the  social  converse  flows, 
And  every  breast  love's  powerful  impulse  knows, 
And  rival  wits  with  more  than  rustic  grace 

Confess  the  presence  of  a  pretty  face. 

BLOOM  FIELD. 


G4  AN    ITALIAN    SONG. 

AN   ITALIAN   SONO. 

DEAR  is  my  little  native  vale, 

The  ringdove  builds  and  murmurs  there, 

Close  by  my  cot  she  tells  her  tale 

To  every  passing  villager. 

The  squirrel  leaps  from  tree  to  tree, 

And  shells  his  nuts  at  liberty. 

In  orange-groves  and  myrtle-bowers, 
That  breathe  a  gale  of  fragrance  round. 
I  charm  the  fairy-footed  hours 
With  my  loved  lute's  romantic  sound  ; 
Or  crowns  of  living  laurel  weave, 
For  those  that  win  the  race  at  eve. 

The  shepherd's  horn  at  break  of  day, 
The  ballet  danced  in  twilight  glade, 
The  canzonet  and  roundelay 
Sung  in  the  silent  greenwood  shade  ; 
These  simple  joys,  that  never  fail, 
Shall  bind  me  to  my  native  vale. 


ROGERS 


FIELD     FLOWERS.  65 


FIELD   FLOWERS. 

YE  field  flowers!  the  gardens  eclipse  you,  'tis  true, 
Yet,  wildings  of  Nature,  I  doat  upon  you, 

For  ye  waft  me  to  summers  of  old, 
When    the    earth    teemed    around    me'    with    fairy 

delight, 
And    when    daisies    and    buttercups    gladdened    my 

sight, 
Like  treasures  of  silver  and  gold. 

I  love  you  for  lulling  me  back  into  dreams 

Of     the    blue     Highland    mountains    and     echoing 

streams, 

And  of  birchen  glades  breathing  their  balm, 
While    the    deer    was    seen    glancing    in     sunshine 

remote, 
And    the    deep    mellow  crush  of   the  wood-pigeon's 

note 
Made  music  that  sweetened  the  calm. 

Not  a  pastoral  song  has  a  pleasanter  tune 
Than  ye  speak  to  my  heart,  little  wildings  of  June : 
Of  old  ruinous  castles  ye  tell, 
9 


G6  FIELD    FLOWERS. 

Where  I  thought  it  delightful  jour  beauties  to  find, 
When-  the    magic    of   Nature  first  breathed    on  my 

mind, 
And  youi  blossoms  were  part  of  her  spell. 

Even  now  what  affections  the  violet  awakes ; 
What  loved  little  islands,  twice  seen  in  their  lakes, 

Can  the  wild  water-lily  restore  ; 
What  landscapes  I  read  in  the  primrose's  looks, 
And  what  pictures  of  pebbled  and  minnowy  brooks, 

In  the  vetches  that  tangled  their  shore  ! 


•-• 


Earth's  cultureless  buds,  to  my  heart  ye  were  dear, 
Ere  the  fever  of  passion,  or  ague  of  fear, 

Had  scathed  my  existence's  bloom  ; 
3nce    I    welcome    you    more,    in    life's    passionless 

stage, 

With  the  visions  of  youth  to  revisit  my  age, 
And  I  wish  you  to  grow  on  my  tomb. 

CAMPBELL 


OCTOBER     TWILIGUT.  G' 

OCTOBER  TWILIGHT, 

OH  mute  among  the  months,  October,  thou, 

Like  a  hot  reaper  when  the  sun  goes  down, 

Reposing  in  the  twilight  of  the  year ! 

Is  yon  the  silver  glitter  of  thy  scythe 

Drawn  thread-like  on  the  west?     September  corncs 

Humming  those  waifs  of  song  June's  choral  days 

Left  in  the  forest,  but  thy  tuneless  lips 

Breathe  only  a  pervading  haze,  that  seems 

Visible  silence,  and  thy  Sabbath  face 

Scares  swart  November,  from  yon  northern  hills 

Foreboding  like  a  raven.     Yellow  ferns 

Make  thee  a  couch  ;  thou  sittest  listless  there. 

Plucking  red  leaves  for  idleness  ;  full  streams 

Coil  to  thy  feet,  where  fawns  that  come  at  noon 

Drink  with  upglancing  eyes. 

.  Upon  this  knoll, 

Studded  with  long-stemmed  maples,  ever  first 
To  take  the  breeze,  I  have  lain  summer  hours, 
Seeing  the  blue  sky  only,  and  the  light 
Shifting  from  leaf  to  leaf.     Tree-top  and  trunk 
Now  lift  so  steadily,  the  airiest  spray 
Seems  painted  on  the  azure.     Evening  comes 


03  0  C  T  0  B  E  R    T  W I  L  I  G  H  T. 

Up  from  the  valley  ;  overlapping  hills, 

Tipped  by  the  sunset,  burn  like  funeral  lamps 

For  the  dead  day ;  no  pomp  of  tinsel  clouds 

Breaks  the  pure  hyaline  the  mountains  gird — 

A  gem  without  a  flaw — but  sharply  drawn 

On  its  transparent  edge,  a  single  tree, 

That  has  cast  down  its  drapery  of  leaves, 

Stands  like  an  athlete  with  broad  arms  outstretched, 

As  if  to  keep  November's  winds  at  bay. 

Below,  on  poised  wings,  a  hovering  mist 

Follows  the  course  of  streams ;  the  air  grows  thick 

Over  the  dells.     Mark  how  the  wind,  like  one 

That  gathers  simples,  flits  from  herb  to  herb, 

Through  the  damp  valley,  muttering  the  while 

Low  incantations  !     From  the  wooded  lanes 

Loiters  a  bell's  dull  tinkle,  keeping  time 

To  the  slow  tread  of  kine  ;  and  I  can  sec 

By  the  rude  trough  the  waters  overbrim 

The  unyoked  oxen  gathered  ;  some,  athirst, 

Stoop  drinking  steadily,  and  some  have  linked 

Their  horns  in  playful  Avar.      Roads  climb  the  hills, 

Divide  the  forests,  and  break  off,  abrupt, 

At  the  horizon  ;   hither,  from  below 

There  comes  a  sound  of  lumbering,  jarring  wheels. 


OCTOBER    TWILIGHT.  69 

The  sound  just  struggles  up  the  steep  ascent, 
Then  drones  off  in  the  distance.     Nearer  still, 
A  rifle's  rattling  charge  starts  up  the  echoes, 
That  flutter  like  scared  birds,  and  pause  awhile 
As  on  suspended  wings,  ere  sinking  slow 
To  their  low  nests.     I  can  distinguish  now 
The  laborer  returning  from  his  toil, 
With  shouldered  spade,  and  weary,  laggard  foot; 
The  cattle  straying  down  the  dusty  road ; 
The  sportsman  balancing  his  idle  gun, 
Whistling  a  light  refrain,  while  close  beside 
His  hound,  with  trailing  ears,  and  muzzle  dropt, 
Follows  some  winding  scent.     From  the  gray  east, 
Twilight,  upglancing  with  dim  fearful  eyes, 
Warns  me  away. 

The  dusk  sits  like  a  bird 

Up  in  the  tree-tops,  and  swart,  elvish  shadows 
Dart  from  the  wooded  pathways.     Wraith  of  day ! 
Through  thy  transparent  robes  the  stars  are  plain ; 
Along  those  swelling  mounds,  that  look  like  graves, 
Where  flowers  grow  thick    in    June,  thy  step    falls 

soft 
As  the  dropt  leaves ;  amid  the  faded  brakes 


QUEEN     MAE. 

The  wind,  retreating,  hides,  and  cowering  there, 
Whines  at  thy  coming  like  a  hound  afraid. 

MAY. 


QUEEN   MAB. 

QUEEN  MAB  and  all  her  company 

Dance  on  a  pleasant  mole-hill  high, 

To  small  straw  pipes,  wherein  great  pleasure 

They  take,  and  keep  time,  just  time  and  measure 

All  hand  in  hand,  around,  around, 

They  dance  upon  the  fairy-ground ; 

And  when  she  leaves  her  dancing  hall, 

She  doth  for  her  attendants  call, 

To  wait  upon  her  to  a  bower, 

Where  she  doth  sit  under  a  flower, 

To  shade  her  from  the  moonshine  bright, 

Where  gnats  do  sing  for  her  delight ; 

The  whilst  the  bat  doth  fly  about, 

To  keep  in  order  all  the  rout. 

A  dewy  waving  leaf's  made  fit 

For  the  queen's  bath,  where  she  doth  sit, 

And  her  white  limbs  in  beauty  show, 

Like  a  new-fallen  flake  of  snow  ; 


HER     DWELLING.  71 


Her  maids  do  put  her  garments  on, 
Made  of  the  pure  light  from  the  sun, 
Which  do  so  many  colors  take, 
As  various  objects  shadows  make. 


DUCHESS  OF  NEWCASTLE 


HER   DWELLING. 

I  DWELL  in  groves  that  gilt  are  with  the  sun  ; 

Sit  on  the  banks  by  which  clear  waters  run  ; 

In  summer's  heat  down  in  a  shade  I  lie  ; 

My  music  is  the  buzzing  of  a  fly  ; 

I  walk  in  meadows,  where  grows  fresh  green  grass ; 

In  fields,  where  corn  is  high,  I  often  pass  ; 

Walk  up  the  hills,  where  round  I  prospects  see, 

Some  brushy  woods,  and  some  all  champaigns  be ; 

Returning  back  I  in  fresh  pastures  go, 

To  hear  how  sheep  do  bleat,  and  cows  do  low; 

In  winter  cold,  when  nipping  frosts  come  on, 

Then  I  do  live  in  a  small  house  alone  ; 

Although  'tis  plain,  yet  cleanly  'tis  within, 

Like  to  a  soul  that's  pure  and  clear  from  sin  ; 

And  there  I  dwell  in  quiet  and  still  peace, 

Not  filled  with  cares  how  riches  to  increase  ; 


72  A    RURAL    MEDITATION. 

I  wish  nor  seek  for  vain  and  fruitless  pleasures ; 
No  riches  are,  but  what  the  mind  intreasures. 
Thus  am  T  solitary,  live  alone, 
Yet  better  loved,  the  more  that  I  am  known  ; 
And  though  my  face  ill-favored  at  first  sight, 
After  acquaintance  it  will  give  delight. 
Refuse  me  not,  for  I  shall  constant  be  ; 
Maintain  your  credit  and  your  dignity. 

DUCHESS  OF  NEWCASTLE 


A   RURAL   MEDITATION. 

HERE  in  the  tuneful  groves  and  flowery  fields, 

Nature  a  thousand  various  beauties  yields: 

The  daisy  and  tall  cowslip  we  behold 

Arrayed  in  snowy  white,  or  freckled  gold, 

The  verdant  prospect  cherishes  our  sight, 

Affording  joy  unmixed,  and  calm  delight ; 

The  forest  walks  and  venerable  shade, 

Wide-spreading  lawns,  bright  rills,  and  silent  glade. 

With  a  religious  awe  our  souls  inspire, 

And  to  the  heavens  our  raptured  thoughts  aspire, 

To  Kin;  who  sits  in  majesty  on  high, 

VVho  turned  the  starry  arches  of  the  sky ; 


THE     CLOSE     OF     SPRING.  73 

Whose  word  ordained  the  silver  Thames  to  flow, 
Raised  all  the  hills,  and  laid  the  valleys  low ; 
Who  taught  the  nightingale  in  shades  to  sing, 
And  bid  the  skylark  warble  on  the  wing  ; 
Makes  the  young  steer,  obedient,  till  the  land. 
And  lowing  heifers  own  the  milker's  hand  ; 
Calms  the  rough  sea,  and  stills  the  raging  wind, 
And  rules  the  passions  of  the  human  mind. 

TlIYNNK 


THE    CLOSE    OF    SPRING. 

THE  garlands  fade  that  Spring  so  lately  wove, 

Each  simple  flower  which  she  had  nursed  in  dew, 
Anemones,  that  spangled  every  grove, 

The  primrose  wan,  and  hare-bell  mildly  blue. 
No  more  shall  violets  linger  in  the  dell, 

Or  purple  orchis  variegate  the  plain, 
Till  Spring  again  shall  call  forth  every  bell, 

And  dress  with  humid  hands  her  wreaths  again, — 
Ah  !   poor  humanity  !  so  frail,  so  fair, 

Are  the  fond  visions  of  thy  early  day, 
Till  tyrant  passion  and  corrosive  care 

Bid  all  thy  fairy  colors  fade  away ! 
10 


74  ENGLISH     SCENE  11  Y. 

Another  May  new  buds  and  flowers  shall  bring ; 
Ah  !  why  has  happiness — no  second  Spring  ? 


SMITH 


ENGLISH    SCENERY. 

(FROM  " BEACHY  HEAD.") 

HAUNTS  of  my  youth  ! 

Scenes  of  fond  day-dreams,  I  behold  ye  yet ! 
Where  'twas  so  pleasant  by  thy  northern  slopes, 
To  climb  the  winding  sheep-path,  aided  oft 
By  scattered  thorns,  whose  spiny  branches  bore 
Small  woolly  tufts,  spoils  of  the  vagrant  lamb, 
There  seeking  shelter  from  the  noonday  sun  : 
And  pleasant,  seated  on  the  short  soft  turf, 
To  look  beneath  upon  the  hollow  way, 
While  heavily  upward  moved  the  laboring  wain, 
And  stalking  slowly  by,  the  sturdy  hind, 
To  ease  his  panting  team,  stopped  with  a  stone 
The  grating  wheel. 

Advancing  higher  still 

The  prospect  widens,  and  the  village  church 
But  little  o'er  the  lowly  roofs  around 


ENGLISH     SCENE  II  Y.  75 

Rears  its  gray  belfry  and  its  simple  vane  : 
Those  lowly  roofs  of  thatch  are  half  concealed 
By  the  rude  arms  of  trees,  lovely  in  spring ; 
When  on  each  bough  the  rosy  tinctured  bloom 
Sits  thick,  and  promises  autumnal  plenty. 
For  even  those  orchards  round  the  Norman  farms, 
Which  as  their  owners  marked  the  promised  fruit, 
Console  them,  for  the  vineyards  of  the  South 
Surpass  not  these. 

Where  woods  of  ash  and  beech, 
And  partial  copses  fringe  the  green  hill  foot, 
The  upland  shepherd  rears  his  modest  home ; 
There  wanders  by  a  little  nameless  stream, 
That  from  the  hill  wells  forth,  bright  now,  and  clear, 
Or  after  rain  with  chalky  mixture  gray, 
But  still  refreshing  in  its  shallow  course 
The  cottage  garden  ;  most  for  use  designed, 
Yet  not  of  beauty  destitute.     The  vine 
Mantles  the  little  casement :  yet  the  brier 
Drops  fragrant  dew  among  the  July  flowers  ; 
And  pansies  rayed  and  freaked,  and  mottled  pinks, 
Grow  among  balm  and  rosemary  and  rue  ; 
There  honeysuckles  flaunt,  and  roses  blow 
Almost  uncultured ;  some  with  dark  green  leaves 


76  ODE     TO     THE     MISSEL    THRUSH. 

Contrast  their  flowers  of  pure  unsullied  white  ; 

Others  like  velvet  robes  of  regal  state 

Of  richest  crimson  ;  while,  in  thorny  moss 

Enshrined  and  cradled,  the  most  lovely  wear 

The  hues  of  youthful  beauty's  glowing  check. 

With  fond  regret  I  recollect  e'en  now 

In  spring  and  summer,  what  delight  I  felt 

Among  these  cottage  gardens,  and  how  much 

Such  artless  nosegays,  knotted  with  a  rush 

By  village  housewife  or  her  ruddy  maid, 

Were  welcome  to  me ;  soon  and  simply  pleased . 

An  early  worshipper  at  Nature's  shrine, 

I  loved  her  rudest  scenes — warrens,  and  heaths, 

And  yellow  commons,  and  birch-shaded  hollows, 

And  hedgerows  bordering  unfrequented  lanes, 

Bowered  with  wild  roses  and  the  clasping  woodbine, 

SMITH 


ODE   TO   THE   MISSEL   THRUSH. 

THE  winter  solstice  scarce  is  past, 
Loud  is  the  wind,  and  hoarsely  sound 

The  mill-streams  in  the  swelling  blast, 
And  cold  and  humid  is  the  ground : 


ODE     TO     THE     MISSEL     Til  RUB  II.  77 

When  to  the  ivy  that  embowers 

Some  pollard  tree,  or  shelt'ring  rock, 
The  troop  of  timid  warblers  flock, 

And  slmdd'ring  wait  for  milder  hours. 

While  thou  !  the  leader  of  their  band, 
Fearless  salut'st  the  opening  year ; 

Nor  stay'st,  till  blow  the  breezes  bland, 
That  bid  the  tender  leaves  appear  ! 

But  on  some  tow'ring  elm  or  pine, 
Waving  elate  thy  dauntless  wing, 
Thou  joy'st  thy  love-notes  wild  to  sing, 

Impatient  of  St.  Valentine ! 

Oh,  herald  of  the  spring !  while  yet 
No  harebell  scents  the  woodland  lane, 

Nor  starwort  fair,  nor  violet, 

Braves  the  bleak  gust  and  driving  rain  : 

'Tis  thine,  as  through  the  copses  rude, 
Some  pensive  wanderer  sighs  along, 
To  soothe  him  with  thy  cheerful  song, 

And  tell  of  Hope  and  Fortitude ! 

For  thec,  then,  may  the  hawthorn  bush, 
The  alder,  and  the  spindle  tree, 


78  CLIFTON     HILL. 

With  all  their  various  berries  blush, 
And  the  blue  sloe  abound  for  thee  1 

For  thee  the  coral  holly  grow, 

Its  armed  and  glossy  leaves  among, 
And  many  a  branched  oak  be  hung 

With  thy  pellucid  mistletoe. 

Still  may  thy  nest,  with  lichen  lined, 
Be  hidden  from  the  invading  jay  ; 

Nor  truant  boy  its  covert  find, 
To  bear  thy  callow  young  away : 

So  thou,  precursor  still  of  good, 
0  herald  of  approaching  spring, 
Shalt  to  the  pensive  wand'rer  sing 

Thy  song  of  Hope  and  Fortitude  ! 


SMITH. 


CLIFTON    HILL. 

THOUGH  slow  and  pensive  now  the  moments  roll, 
Successive  months  shall  from  our  torpid  soul 
Hurry  these  scones  again  ;   the  laughing  hours 
Advancing  swift,  shall  strew  spontaneous  flowers  ; 


The  early-peeping  snowdrop,  croia.-.  mild, 
And  modest  violet,  zraoe  the  r-reoret  w!ld  : 
Pule  primrose.  ri->.yr  Mav-r,o!e  deokir;^  v 
An  1  purple  hTu-c'ritri  :o^^:her  r^o^-;: 
All  N"a:  lire's  =^^e:.^  in  jovo-is  oir^I^^  ^07 
And  ~;ike  the  fj;zen  soa!  a^'n  to  love. 


Ani  --:5,  fre-h.  ardor  fro- 
Tne  Ian-i5cae  r;,\-  :-  ':.\:i 


B 
.  sore-i 


80  ON     A     SPHIG     OF     HEATH. 

Flower  of  the  desert  though  thou  art  ! 

The  deer  that  range  the  mountain  free, 
The  graceful  doe,  the  stately  hart, 

Their  food  and  shelter  seek  from  thee  ; 
The  bee  thy  earliest  blossom  greets, 
And  draws  from  thee  her  choicest  sweets. 


Gem  of  the  heath !  whose  modest  bloom 
Sheds  beauty  o'er  the  lonely  moor; 

Though  thou  dispense  no  rich  perfume, 
Nor  yet  with  splendid  tints  allure, 

Both  valor's  crest  and  beauty's  bower 

Oft  hast  thou  decked,  a  favorite  flower. 

Flower  of  the  wild  !  whose  purple  glow 
Adorns  the  dusky  mountain's  side, 

Not  the  gay  hues  of  Iris'  bow, 
Nor  garden's  artful  varied  pride, 

With  all  its  wealth  of  sweets  could  cheer, 

Like  thee,  the  hardy  mountaineer. 

Flower  of  his  heart !  thy  fragrance  mild 
Of  peace  and  freedom  seem  to  breathe  ; 


THE     ANGLER.  81 

To  pluck  thy  blossoms  in  the  wild, 

And  deck  his  bonnet  with  the  wreath, 
Where  dwelt  of  old  his  rustic  sires, 
Is  all  his  simple  wish  requires. 

Flower  of  his  dear-loved  native  land  ! 

Alas,  when  distant  far  more  dear  ! 
When  he  from  some  cold  foreign  strand, 

Looks  homeward  through  the  blinding  tear, 
How  must  his  aching  heart  deplore 

That  home  and  thee  he  sees  no  more  ! 

GRANT. 


THE   ANGLER. 

"I  in  those1  flowery  mends  would  l>e; 
These  crystal  streams  should  solace  me: 
To  whose  harmonious  bubbling  noise 
I  with  my  angle  would  ri'joice 
*  *  #  *  * 

And  angle  on,  and  beg  to  have 

A  quiet  passage  to  a  welcome  grave." 

IZAAK  W ALTOS. 

THOU  that  hast  loved  so  long  and  well 

The  vale's  deep  quiet  streams, 
Where  the  pure  water-lilies  dwell, 

Shedding  forth  tender  gleams  ; 
11 


THE     ANGLER. 

And  o'er  the  pool  the  May-fly's  wing 
Glances  in  golden  eves  of  spring. 

Oh  !  lone  and  lovely  haunts  are  thine, 

Soft,  soft  the  river  flows, 
Wearing  the  shadow  of  thy  line, 

The  gloom  of  alder-boughs  ; 
And  in  the  midst,  a  richer  hue, 
One  gliding  vein  of  heaven's  own  blue. 

And  there  but  low  sweet  sounds  are  heard — 
The  whisper  of  the  reed, 
The  plashing  trout,  the  rustling  bird, 
The  scythe  upon  the  mead  : 
Yet  through  the  murmuring  osiers  near, 
There  steals  a  step  which  mortals  fear. 

'Tis  not  the  stag,  that  comes  to  lave, 

At  noon,  his  panting  breast; 
'Tis  not  the  bittern  by  the  wave 

Seeking  her  sedgy  nest ; 
The  air  is  filled  with  summer's  breath, 
The  young  flowers  laugh — yet  look  !  'tis  death ! 


THE    CHANGED    HOME.  83 

But  if,  where  silvery  currents  rove, 

Thy  heart,  grown  still  and  sage, 
Hath  learned  to  read  the  words  of  love 

That  shine  o'er  nature's  page ; 
If  holy  thoughts  thy  guests  have  been, 
Under  the  shade  of  willows  £reen  ; 

o  " 

Then,  lover  of  the  silent  hour, 

By  deep  lone  waters  past, 
Thence  hast  thou  drawn  a  faith,  a  power, 

To  cheer  thee  through  the  last ; 
And,  wont  on  brighter  worlds  to  dwell, 

May'st  calmly  bid  thy  streams  farewell. 

HEM AN « 


THE   CHANGED   HOME. 

I  LEFT  my  home  ; — 'twas  in  a  little  vale, 

Sheltered  from  snow-storms  by  the  stately  pines ; 

A  small  clear  river  wandered  quietly, 

Its  smooth  waves  only  cut  by  the  light  barks 

Of  fishers,  and  but  darkened  by  the  shade 

The  willows  flung,  when  to  the  southern  wind 

They  threw  their  long  green  tresses.     On  the  slope 


84  THE     CHANGED    HOME. 

Were  five  or  six  white  cottages,  whose  roofs 

Reached  not  to  the  laburnum's  height,  whose  boughs 

Shook  over  them  bright  showers  of  golden  bloom. 

Sweet  silence  reigned  around : — no  other  sound 

Came  on  the  air,  than  when  the  shepherd  made 

The  reed-pipe  rudely  musical,  or  notes 

From  the  wild  birds,  or  children  in  their  play 

Sending  forth  shouts  or  laughter.      Strangers  came 

Rarely  or  never  near  the  lonely  place.   .   .  . 

I  went  into  far  countries.     Years  past  by, 

But  still  that  vale  in  silent  beauty  dwelt 

Within  my  memory.     Home  I  came  at  last. 

I  stood  upon  a  mountain  height,  and  looked 

Into  the  vale  below ;  and  smoke  arose, 

And  heavy  sounds ;  and  thro'  the  thick  dim  air 

Shot  blackened  turrets,  and  brick  walls,  and  roofs 

Of  the  red  tile.     I  entered  in  the  streets : 

There  were  ten  thousand  hurrying  to  and  fro  ; 

And  masted  vessels  stood  upon  the  river, 

And  barges  sullied  the  once  dew-clear  stream. 

Where  were  the  willows,  where  the  cottages  ? 

I  sought  my  home  ;  I  sought  and  found  a  city, — 

Alas  !  for  the  green  valley  ! 

LAN  DON. 


A    SUMMER    DAY.  85 

A   SUMMER   DAY. 

N  that  the  misty  vapor  was  agone, 
And  clearc  arid  faire  was  the  morning, 
The  dewe  also  like  silver  in  shining 
Upon  the  leaves,  as  any  baume  swete, 
Till  firy  Titan  with  his  persant  hete 

Had  dried  up  the  lusty  licour  new 
Upon  the  herbes  in  the  grene  mede, 
And  that  the  floures  of  many  divers  hew, 
Upon  hir  stalk es  gon  for  to  sprede, 
And  for  to  splay  out  her  leves  in  brede 
Againe  the  Sunne,  gold  burned  in  his  sphere, 
That  doune  to  hem  cast  his  beames  clere. 

And  by  a  river  forth  I  gan  costay, 
Of  water  clere  as  birell  or  cristall, 
Till  at  the  last,  I  found  a  little  way 
Toward  a  parkc,  enclosed  with  a  wall 
In  compace  rounde,  and  by  a  gate  small 
Who  so  that  would  might  freely  gone 
Into  this  parke,  walled  with  grene  stone 


86  A    SUMMER    DAY. 

And  in  I  went  to  heare  the  birdes  song, 
Which  on  the  braunches,  both  in  plaine  and  vale, 
So  loud  sang  that  all  the  wood  rong, 
Like  as  it  should  shiver  in  peeccs  smale, 
And,  as  methought,  that  the  nightingale 
With  so  great  might  her  voice  gan  out  wrest, 
Right  as  her  herte  for  love  would  brest. 

The  soile  was  plaine,  smoth,  and  wonder  soft, 
All  oversprad  with  tapcttes  that  Nature 
Had  made  her  selfe  :   covered  eke  aloft 
With  bowes  greene  the  floures  for  to  cure, 
That  in  hir  beauty  they  may  long  endure 
From  all  assaut  of  Phebus  fervent  fere, 
Which  in  his  sphere  so  liotc  shone  and  clere. 

The  aire  attempre,  and  the  smothe  wind 
Of  Zepherus,  among  the  blossoms  white, 
So  holesome  was,  and  so  nourishing  by  kind, 
That  smale  buddcs  and  round  blossoms  lite 
In  manner  gan  of  hir  brethe  dclitc, 
To  yeve  us  hope  there  fruitc  shall  take 
Ayenst  autumne  roly  for  to  shake. 


A     S  U  M  M  E  R     D  A  Y.  87 

I  saw  the  Daphcnc  closed  under  rindc, 
Greene  laurcr,  and  the  holesome  pine, 
The  mii-re  also  that  wcepcth  ever  of  kinde, 
The  ccdres  hie,  upright  as  a  line, 
The  filbert  eke,  that  lowc  doth  encline 
Her  bowes  grene  to  the  earth  adoun, 
Unto  her  knight  called  Demophoun. 

There  sawc  I  eke  the  fresh  hauthorne, 
In  white  motley,  that  so  swete  doth  smell, 
Aslic,  firre,  and  okc,  with  many  a  young  acorn, 
And  many  a  tree  mo  than  I  can  tell, 
And  me  befornc  I  saw  a  little  well, 
That  had  his  course,  as  I  gan  beholde, 
Under  an  hill,  witli  quicke  stremcs  colde. 

The  gravel  gold,  the  water  pure  as  glasse. 
The  bankcs  round  the  well  environyng, 
And  soft  as  velvet  the  yongc  grasse 
That  thereupon  lustely  came  springyng, 
The  sute  of  trees  about  compassyng, 
Hir  shadow  cast,  closing  the  well  round, 
And  all  the  herbes  growing  on  the  ground. 

CHAUCEF 


LESS  0  N  S     OF    S  P  R  I  N  G. 

S  P  R I N  G. 

WHAN  that  Phobus  his  chair  of  gold  so  hie 
Had  whirled  up  the  sterry  sky  aloft, 
And  in  the  Boole  was  entered  certainly, 
When  shoures  sweet  of  raine  descended  soft, 
Causing  the  ground  fele  times  and  oft, 
Up  for  to  give  many  an  wholsome  aire, 
And  every  plaine  was  clothed  faire 

With  new  greene,  and  maketh  small  floures 
To  springcn  here  and  there  in  field  and  in 
So  very  good  and  wholsome  be  the  shoures, 
That  it  rcnueth  that  was  old  and  dede, 
In  winter  time  ;  and  out  of  every  sede 
Springeth  the  hearbe,  so  that  every  wight 
Of  this  season  wcxcth  glad  and  light. 

CHAUCER 


LESSONS   OF   SPRING. 

'They  shall  spring  up  as  among  the  grass,  as  willows  by  tho  watercourses." 

ISAIAH  44 :  4. 

LESSONS  sweet  of  spring  returning, 
Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  heart ! 


LKS.SOXb     OF    Sl'lMNtl.  81) 

May  I  call  ye  sense  or  learning, 

Instinct  pure,  or  heaven-taught  art? 
Be  your  title  what  it  may, 
Sweet  the  lengthening  April  day, 
While  with  you  the  soul  is  free, 
Ranging  wild  o'er  hill  and  lea. 

Soft  as  Mcmnon's  harp  at  morning, 

To  the  inward  ear  devout, 
Touched  hy  light,  with  heavenly  warning 

Your  transporting  chords  ring  out. 
Every  leaf  in  every  nook, 
Every  wave  in  every  brook, 
Chanting  with  ,1  solemn  voice, 
Minds  us  of  our  better  choice. 

Needs  no  show  of  mountain  hoary, 
Winding  shore  or  deepening  glen, 

Where  the  landscape  in  its  glory 
Teaches  truth  to  wandering  men  : 

Give  true  hearts  but  earth  and  sky, 

And  some  flowers  to  bloom  and  die, — 

Homely  scenes  and  simple  views 

Lowly  thoughts  may  best  infuse. 
12 


90  LESSONS     OP     SPUING. 

See  the  soft  green  willow  springing 

Where  the  waters  gently  pass, 
Every  way  her  free  arms  flinging 
O'er  the  moist  and  reedy  grass. 
Long  ere  winter  blasts  are  fled, 
See  her  tipped  with  vernal  red, 
And  her  kindly  flower  displayed 
Ere  her  leaf  can  cast  a  shade. 

Though  the  rudest  hand  assail  her, 

Patiently  she  droops  awhile, 
But  when  showers  and  breezes  hail  her, 

Wears  again  her  willing  smile. 
Thus  I  learn  Contentment's  power 
From  the  slighted  willow  bower, 
Ready  to  give  thanks  and  live 
On  the  least  that  Heaven  may  give. 


<rin<r 


•:' 


If,  the  quiet  brooklet  leav 
Up  the  stony  vale  I  wind, 

Haply  half  in  fancy  grieving 
For  the  shades  I  leave  behind, 

By  the  dusty  wayside  drear, 

Nightingales  with  joyous  cheer 


FLOW     GENTLY,     SWEET     AFT  OX.  91 

Sing,  my  sadness  to  reprove, 
Gladlier  than  in  cultured  grove. 

Where  the  thickest  boughs  are  twining 

Of  the  greenest,  darkest  tree, 
There  they  plunge,  the  light  declining — 

All  may  hear,  but  none  may  see. 
Fearless  of  the  passing  hoof, 
Hardly  will  they  fleet  aloof; 
So  they  live  in  modest  v  ays, 

Trust  entire,  and  ceaseless  praise. 

KKBLE. 


FLOW    GENTLY,    SWEET    A  FT  ON. 

FLOW  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thcc  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove,  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds,  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 


92  FLOW    0  E  X  T  L  Y,     SWEET    AFTON. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills, 
Far  marked  with  the  courses  of  clear  winding  rills  ; 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below  : 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ; 
There  oft  as  mild  evening  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  rne. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave, 
As    gathering  sweet  flowerets    she    stems  thy  clear 
wave. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays  ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

BURNS 


THE    LILIES    OF    T  JI E    FIELD.  93 

THE   EARLY   DAWN. 

On  seeing  a  picture  of  Mornir.G;  on  the  Mountains. 

How  beautiful  is  morning  !     I  have  been, 

Painter,  like  thee,  a  wanderer,  when  the  hills 

Slept  in  their  own  great  shadows,  and  have  seen 
The  dawn  kiss  out  the  stars,  have  heard  the  rills 
Warbling  unseen,  and  sending  forth  the  thrills 

Of  soothing  melody.     Methinks  thou  art 
My  spirit's  own  interpreter,  we  gaze 

In  kindred  feelings,  gaze,  ay,  heart  to  heart, 

As  friend  with  friend. 

GEORGE  HUME. 


THE   LILIES   OF   THE   FIELD. 

Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow. 

ST.  MATTHEW  6 :  28. 

SWEET  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies, 
Bathed  in  soft  airs,  and  fed  with  dew, 

What  more  than  magic  in  you  lies, 
To  fill  the  heart's  fond  view  ? 

In  childhood's  sports,  companions  gay, 

In  sorrow,  on  Life's  downward  way, 


94  THE    LILIES    OF    THE    FIELD. 

How  soothing  !  in  our  last  de'cay 
Memorials  prompt  and  true. 

Relics  ye  are  of  Eden's  bowers, 
As  pure,  as  fragrant,  and  as  fair, 

As  when  ye  crowned  the  sunshine  hours 
Of  happy  wanderers  there. 

Fallen  all  beside, — the  world  of  life, 

How  is  it  stained  with  fear  and  strife  ! 

In  Reason's  world  what  storms  are  rife, 
What  passions  range  and  glare  ! 

But  cheerful  and  unchanged  the  while 
Your  first  and  perfect  form  ye  show, 

The  same  that  won  Eve's  matron  smile 
In  the  world's  opening  glow. 

The  stars  of  heaven  a  course  are  taught 

Too  high  above  our  human  thought ; 

Ye  may  be  found  if  ye  are  sought, 
And  as  we  gaze,  we  know. 

Ye  dwell  beside  our  paths  and  homes, 
Our  paths  of  sin,  our  homes  of  sorrow, 

And  guilty  man,  where'er  he  roams, 
Your  innocent  mirth  may  borrow. 


THE     LILIES    OF    THE     FIELD.  95 

The  birds  of  air  before  us  fleet, 
They  cannot  brook  our  shame  to  meet — 
But  we  may  taste  your  solace  sweet 
And  come  again  to-morrow. 

Ye  fearless  in  your  nests  abide — 

Nor  may  we  scorn,  too  proudly  wise, 
Your  silent  lessons,  undescried 

By  all  but  lowly  eyes : 
For  ye  could  draw  th'  admiring  gaze 
Of  Him  who  worlds  and  hearts  surveys : 
Your  order  wild,  your  fragrant  maze, 
He  taught  us  how  to  prize. 

Ye  felt  your  Maker's  smile  that  hour, 

As  when  He  paused  and  owned  you  good , 

His  blessing  on  earth's  primal  bower, 
Ye  felt  it  all  renewed. 

What  care  ye  now,  if  winter's  storm 

Sweep  ruthless  o'er  each  silken  form  ? 

Christ's  blessing  at  your  heart  is  warm, 
Ye  fear  no  vexing  mood. 

Alas  !  of  thousand  bosoms  kind, 
That  daily  court  you  and  caress, 


96  THE     QUESTION. 

How  few  the  happy  secret  find 

Of  your  calm  loveliness  ! 
"  Live  for  to-day  !  to-morrow's  light 
To-morrow's  cares  shall  bring  to  sight, 
Go  sleep  like  closing  flowers  at  night, 

And  heaven  thy  morn  will  bless." 

KEBLE. 


THE   QUESTION. 

I  DREAMED  that,  as  I  wandered  by  the  way, 
Bare  winter  suddenly  was  changed  to  spring, 

And  gentle  odors  led  my  steps  astray, 
Mixed  with  a  sound  of  waters  murmuring 

Along  a  shelving  bank  of  turf,  which  lay 
Under  a  copse,  arid  hardly  dared  to  fling 

Its  green  arms  round  the  bosom  of  the  stream, 

But   kissed    it  and   then  fled,  as  thou    mightest  in 
dream. 

There  grew  pied  windflowers  and  violets, 
Daisies,  those  pearled  Arcturi  of  the  earth. 

The  constellated  flower  that  never  sets  ; 

Faint  oxlips  ;  tender  bluebells,  at  whose  birth 


T  II  E     Q  U  E  S  T  I  0  N.  97 

The  sod    scarce    heaved ;    and  that  tall  flower  that 

wets 

Its  mother's  face  with  heaven-collected  tears, 
When  the  low  wind,  its  playmate's  voice,  it  l.ears. 

And  in  the  warm  hedge  grew  lush  eglantine, 
Green  cowbind  and  the  moonlight-colored  May, 

And  cherry  blossoms,  and  white  cups,  whose  wine 
Was  the  bright  dew  yet  drained  not  by  the  day ; 

And  wild  roses,  and  ivy  serpentine, 

With  its  dark  buds  and  leaves,  wandering  astray ; 

And  flowers  azure,  black,  and  streaked  with  gold, 

Fairer  than  any  wakened  eyes  behold. 

And  nearer  to  the  river's  trembling  edge 

There    grew    broad    flag-flowers,    purple    prank  t 
with  white, 

And  starry  river  buds  among  the  sedge, 
And  floating  water-lilies,  broad  and  bright, 

Which  lit  the  oak  that  overhung  the  hedge 

With  moonlight  beams  of  their  own  watery  light ; 

And  bulrushes,  and  reeds  of  such  deep  green 

As  soothed  the  dazzled  eye  with  sober  sheen. 

13 


98  THE     HUSBANDMAN. 

Methought  that  of  these  visionary  flowers 
I  made  a  nosegay,  bound  in  such  a  way 

That  the  same  hues,  which  in  their  natural  bowers 
Were  mingled  or  opposed,  the  like  array 

Kept  these  imprisoned  children  of  the  Hours 
Within  my  hand,— and  then,  elate  and  gay, 

I  hastened  to  the  spot  whence  I  had  come, 

That  I  might  there  present  it !— Oh  !  to  whom  ? 

SHELLEY 


THE   HUSBANDMAN. 

(FROM  A  LONG  POEM  ENTITLED  "  LOCHLEVEN.") 

How  blest  the  man,  who,  in  these  peaceful  plains, 

Ploughs  his  paternal  field ;  far  from  the  noise, 

The  care  and  bustle  of  a  busy  world  ! 

All  in  the  sacred,  sweet,  sequestered  vale 

Of  solitude,  the  secret  primrose  path 

Of  rural  life  he  dwells  ;  and  with  him  dwells 

Peace  and  content,  twins  of  the  sylvan  shade, 

And  all  the  graces  of  the  golden  age. 

Such  is  Agricola,  the  wise,  the  good, 

By  nature  formed  for  the  calm  retreat, 


HUNTING     SONG.  99 

The  silent  path  of  life.      Learned,  but  not  fraught 

With  self-importance,  as  the  starched  fool 

Who  challenges  respect  by  solemn  face, 

By  studied  accent,  and  high-sounding  phrase, 

Enamored  of  the  shade,  but  not  morose, 

Politeness  raised  in  courts  by  frigid  rules 

With  him  spontaneous  grows.      Xot  books  alone, 

But  man  his  study,  and  the  better  part  ; 

To  tread  the  ways  of  virtue,  and  to  act 

The  various  scenes  of  life  with  (iod's  applause. 

BRUCE. 


HUNTING  SONG. 

THE     heather     was    blooming,    the     meadows    were 

mawn. 

Our  lads  gaed  a-hunting  ane  day  at  the  dawn. 
Owre  moor.,  and  owre  mosses  and  mony  a  glen 
At  length  they  discovered  a  bonnie  moor-hen. 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 

Tak    some    on    the    wing,    and    some    as    they 
spring, 

But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonnie  moor-hen. 


1UU  HUNTIJN 

Sweet    brushing  the    dew  from    the    brown    heather 

bells, 

Her  colors  betrayed  her  on  yon  mossy  fells ; 
Her  plumage  out-lustred  the  pride  o'  the  spring, 
And  oh !  as  she  wantoned  gay  on  the  wing. 
I  red  you  beware,  &c. 

Auld  Phoebus  himsel,  as  he  peeped  o'er  the  hill, 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tried  his  skill ; 
He  levelled  his  rays  where  she  basked  on  the  brae — 
His  rays  were  outshone,  and  but  marked  wL  -;e  sli3 

lay. 
I  red  you  beware,  &c. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted  the  hill  ; 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o'  their  skill  • 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their  sight, 
Then,  whirr  !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at  a  flight. 
I  red  you  beware,  &c. 


P  R  A  1  ,<  i:     A  X  D     T  II  A  X  K  S  G  I  V  I  X  (', .  101 


PRAISE   AND   THANKSGIVING. 

0    Loan,    bow   manifold    are    Thy    works;    in    wisdom    hast    Thou 
made  them  all ;   the  earth  is  full  of  Thy  riches.—  PSALM  10-1 :   24. 

Go  forth,  my  heart,  and  seek  delight 
In  all  the  gifts  of  God's  great  might, 

These  pleasant  summer  hours  : 
Look  how  the  plains  for  thee  and  me 
Have  decked  themselves  most  fair  to  see. 

All  bright  and  sweet  with  flowers. 

The  trees  stand  thick  and  dark  with  leaves, 
And  earth  o'er  all  her  dust  now  weaves 

A  robe  of  living  green  ; 
Nor  silks  of  Solomon  compare 
With  glories  that  the  tulips  wear, 

Or  lilies'  spotless  sheen. 

The  lark  soars  singing  into  space, 
The  dove  forsakes  her  hiding-place, 
And  coos  the  woods  amon<r; 

O  ' 

The  richly  gifted  nightingale, 
Pours  forth  her  voice  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
And  floods  the  fields  with  song. 


J02  PRAISE    AND    THANKSGIVING 

.   Here  with  her  brood  the  hen  doth  walk, 
There  builds  and  guards  his  nest  the  stork, 

The  fleet-winged  swallows  pass ; 
The  swift  stag  leaves  his  rocky  home, 
And  down  the  light  deer  bounding  come 

To  taste  the  long  rich  grass. 

The  brooks  rush  gurgling  through  the  sand, 
And  from  the  trees  on  either  hand, 

Cool  shadows  o'er  them  fall ; 
The  meadows  at  their  side  are  glad 
With  herds  ;  and  hark  !  the  shepherd  lad 

Sends  forth  his  mirthful  call. 

And  humming,  hovering  to  and  fro, 
The  never-wearied  swarms  forth  go 

To  seek  their  honeyed  food ; 
And  through  the  vine's  yet  feeble  shoots 
Stream  daily  upwards  from  her  roots 

New  strength  and  juices  good. 

The  corn  springs  up,  a  wealth  untold, 
A  sight  to  gladden  young  and  old, 
Who  now  their  voices  lift 


P  II  A  I  S  E    A  N  1)     T  II  A  X  K  S  G  I  V  I  N  G .  1 03 

To  Him  who  gives  such  plenteous  store, 
And  makes  the  cup  of  life  run  o'er 
With  many  a  noble  gift. 

Thy  mighty  working,  mighty  God, 
Wakes  all  my  powers  ;   I  look  abroad 

And  can  no  longer  rest ; 
I  too  must  sing  when  all  things  sing, 
And  from  my  heart  the  praises  ring 

The  Highest  lovcth  best. 

I  think,  art  Thou  so  good  to  us, 
And  scatterest  joy  and  beauty  thus 

O'er  this  poor  earth  of  ours  ; 
What  nobler  glories  shall  be  given 
Hereafter  in  Thy  shining  heaven, 

Set  round  witli  golden  towers  ! 

What  thrilling  joy  when  on  our  sight 
Christ's  Burden  beams  in  cloudless  liMit, 

O  O         ' 

Where  all  the  air  is  sweet, 
Still  laden  with  the  unwearied  hymn 
From  all  the  thousand  seraphim 

Who  God's  high  praise  repeat ! 


104  PHA1SE     AND     THANKSGIVING. 

Oh  were  I  there!   Oh  that  I  now, 

Dear  God,  before  Thy  throne  could  bow, 

And  bear  my  heavenly  palm  ! 
Then  like  the  angels  would  I  raise 
My  voice,  and  sing  Thy  endless  praise 

In  many  a  sweet-toned  psalm. 

Nor  can  I  now,  0  God,  forbear, 
Though  still  this  mortal  yoke  I  wear, 

To  utter  oft  thy  name  ; 
But  still  my  heart  is  bent  to  speak 
Thy  praises  ;  still,  though  poor  and  weak, 

Would  I  set  forth  thy  fame. 

But  help  me  :  let  Thy  heavenly  showers 
Revive  and  bless  my  fainting  powers, 

And  let  me  thrive  and  grow 
Beneath  the  summer  of  thy  grace, 
And  fruits  of  faith  bud  forth  apace 

While  yet  I  dwell  below. 

And  set  me,  Lord,  in  Paradise 
When  I  have  bloomed  beneath  these  skies 
Till  my  last  leaf  is  flown  ; 


X  0  W     S  P  P.  IXC,     JI  A  S     C  LAD,     E  T  C.  1- 

Thus  let  me  serve  Thee  here  in  time, 
And  after,  in  that  happier  clime, 
And  Thee,  my  God,  alone  ! 

PA rr,  Cii:unAi:i)T.    1759. 


NOW    SP11IXU    HAS    CLAD    THE    GROVE 
IX    GREEX. 

Xow  spring  has  clad  the  grove  in  green, 

Arid  strewed  the  lea  wi'  flowers: 
The  furrowed,  waving  corn  is  seen 

Rejoice  in  fostering  showers  ; 
While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

Their  sorrows  to  forego, 
Oh  why  thus  all  alone  are  mine 

The  weary  steps  of  woe  ! 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling  burn 

Glides  swift — a  silver  dart ; 
And  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn 

Defies  the  angler's  art. 
My  life  was  ance  that  careless  stream, 

That  wanton  trout  was  I , 
1-4 


100  NOW    SPRING    HAS    CLAD,    ETC. 

But  love  wi'  unrelenting  beam, 
Has  scorched  my  fountains  dry. 

The  little  flow'ret's  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  cliff  that  grows, 
Which,  save  the  linnet's  flight,  I  wot, 

Nae  ruder  visit  knows, 
Was  mine;  till  love  has  o'er  me  past, 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom, 
And  now  beneath  the  with'ring  blast 

My  youth  and  joy  consume. 

The  wakened  lav'rock  warbling  springs, 

And  climbs  the  early  sky, 
Winnowing  blithe  her  dewy  wings 

In  morning's  rosy  eye. 
As  little  recked  I  sorrow's  power, 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
0'  witching  love,  in  luckless  hour, 

Made  me  the  thrall  o'  care. 

Oh,  had  iny  fate  been  Greenland  snows, 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
Wi'  men  and  nature  leagued  my  foes, 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I'd  known ! 


A  U  G  U  S  T.  107 

The  wretch  whase  doom  is,  "  hope  nae  mair,  ' 

What  tongue  his  woes  can  tell ! 
Within  wha.se  bosom,  save  despair, 

Xae  kinder  spirits  dwell. 


AUGUST. 
AEG LOG A    OCTAVA. 


IN  this  Aegloguu  is  set  i'orih  a  delectable  controversie,  r.iade  in 
imitation  of  that  in  Theocritus:  thereto  also  Virgil  fashioned 
liis  third  and  seventh  Aegloguc.  They  cboso  1'or  uiupere  of 
their  strife,  Cinldv,  a  neat-heards,  hoye  :  wlm,  having  tsidcd 
their  cause,  reciteth  also  hiinsellb  a  proper  sniii;,  wliereot'  Colin  ho 
saith  was  authour. 

WILLIE,   PKRIGOT,   CUDDIK. 

WILLIE.      Tell  mee,  Perigot,  what  shalbe  the  game, 

Wherefore  witli  mine  thou  dare  thy  musick  matche  ? 
Or  bene  thy  bagpypcs  renne  l  farrc  out  of  frame? 

Or  hath  the  crampe  thy  ioynts  benomd  with  ache  ? 
13ER.      Ah  !   Willie,  when  the  hart  is  ill  assayde,2 
How  can  bagpype  or  ioynts  be  well  apayde?3 
WlL.      What  the  foulc  cvill  hath  thec  so  bestad?4 
Whilom  thou  was  peregall5  to  the  best, 

1  Rcnnc,  run.  *  i.  c.  reduced  you  to  this  condition. 

2  Assayde,  affected.  5  Pereyall,  equal. 

3  Well  npai/de,  in  good  condition. 


108  AUGUST. 

And  wont  to  make  the  iolly  shepheards  glad 

With  pjping  and  dauncing  did  passe  the  rest. 
PER.     Ah  !  Willie,  now  I  have  Icarnd  a  new  daunce  ! 
My  old  musick  mard  by  a  new  mischaunce. 
WIL.     Mischiefe  m ought  to  that  mischaunce  befall, 

That  so  hath  raft1  us  of  our  merimcnt ; 
But  rede  2  me  what  paine  doth  thce  so  apall , 

Or  lovest  thou,  or  bene  thy  younglinges  miswcnt?3 
PER.     Love  hath  misled  both  my  younglinges  and 

me  ; 

I  pine  for  payne,  and  they  my  paine  to  see. 
WIL.     Perdie  and  wellawaye  !  ill  may  they  thrive  ; 

Never  knew  I  lovers  sheepe  in  good  plight: 
But  arid  if  in  rymes  with  me  thou  dare  strive, 

Such  fond  fantasies  shall  soone  be  put  to  flight. 
PER.     That  shall  I  doe,   though    mochell4  worse   I 

fared : 

Never  shall  be  sayde  that  Perigot  was  dared. 
WIL.     Then  loc,  Perigot,  the  pledge  which  I  plight, 

A  mazer 5  ywrought  of  the  maple  warre,6 
Wherein  is  enchased  many  a  fay  re  sight 

1  Raft,  Dercft.  *  Mochell,  mucli. 

2  Rede,  tell.  5  Mazer,  bowl. 
*  Miswejit,  ffone  astray.                            G  Warrc.  ware. 


AUGUST.  109 

Of  bears  and  tygcrs,  that  maken  ficrs  warre  ; 
And  over  them  spred  a  goodly  wilde  vine, 
Entrailed  with  a  wanton  yvy  twine. 
Thereby  is  a  lambe  in  the  wolves  iawcs  ; 

.But  see,  how  fast  rennetli  the  shcphcard  swain 
To  save  tlie  innocent  from  the  beastes  pawes, 

And  here  with  his  sheepchooke  haili  him  slain. 
Tell  me,  such  a  cup  hast  thou  ever  seene  ? 
Well  mought  it  beseeme  any  harvest  queen  e. 
PER.      Thereto  will  I  pawne  yonder  spotted  lauibe  ; 

Of  all  my  iloeke  there  nis  sike  l  another, 
For  I  brought  him  up  without  the  dambe  ; 

But  Colin  Clout  rafte  me  of  his  brother, 
That  he  purchast  of  me  in  the  plaine  field  ; 
Sore  against  my  will  was  I  forst  to  yceld. 
WlL.      Sicker,2  make  like  account  of  his  brother; 

But  who  shall  iudgc  the  wager  wonne  or  lost? 
PER.     That  shall  yonder  heardgrome,  and  none  other, 

Which  over  the  pousse3  hetherward  doth  post. 
WIL.     But,  for  the  sunnbeame  so  sore  doth  us  beate. 
Were  not  better  to  shunne  the  scortching  heate  ? 
PER.     Well    agreed,  Willie ;    then    set  thcc  downe, 
swayue ; 

1  Nis  slice,  is  not  such.  2  Sicker,  surely.  *  Pousse,  pease 


110  A  U  G  U  S  T. 

Sike  a  song  never  heartiest  thou  but  Colin  sing. 
CUD.     Gynne  when    ye    list,    ye    iolly   shepheardes 

twayne ; 
Sike  a  iudge  as  Cuddie  were  for  a  king. 

PER.  It  fell  upon  a  holy  eve,* 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  holiday  ! 

PER.  "When  holy  fathers  wont  to  shrieve  ; 

WIL.  Now  ginneth  this  roundelay. 

PER.  Sitting  upon  a  hill  so  hie, 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  the  high  hill  ! 

PER.  The  while  my  flocke  did  feede  thereby ; 

WIL.  The  while  the  shephcard  sclfe  did  spill  j1 

PER.  I  saw  the  bouncing  Bcllibonc, 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  bonnibell ! 

PER.  Tripping  over  the  dale  alone  ; 

WIL.  She  can  trip  it  very  well. 

PER.  Well  decked  in  a  frock  of  gray, 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  gray  is  greet  !2 

1  Spill,  pine.  2  Greet,  mourning. 

*  It  fell  upon  a  Jioli/  eve.  Nothing  can  be  prettier  in  its  way  than 
this  little  song.  Besides  being  highly  picturesque,  it  has  a  true  lyiicai 
quality  which  forces  us  to  chant  the  words  to  a  melody  suggested  by 
themselves.  C. 


AUGUST.  Ill 

PER.  And  in  a  kirtlc  of  crecne  save,1 

&  j 

WIL.          The  greenc  is  for  inaydens  meet. 

PER.  A  chapelct  on  lier  head  she  wore, 

WIL.          Hey  lio,  chapelet ! 

PER.  Of  sweete  violets  therein  was  store, 

WIL.          She  sweeter  then  the  violet. 

PER.  My  sheepc  did  leave  their  wonted  food, 

WIL.          Hoy  no>  sce1y  shecpe  ! 

PER.  And  ga/d  on  her  as  they  were  wood,2 

WIL.          Wood  as  he  that  did  them  keepe. 

PER.  As  the  bonilasso  passed  bye, 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  bonilasse  ! 

PER.  She  rovde3  at  mee  with  glauncing  eye, 

WIL.          As  cleare  as  the  cristall  glasse  : 

PER.  All  as  the  sunny  beame  so  bright, 

WlL.          Hey  ho,  the  sunne-beame  ! 

PER.  Glaunceth  from  Phoebus  face  forthright, 

WIL.          So  love  into  thy  heart  did  streame  : 

PER.  Or  as  the  thonder  eleaves  the  cloudes, 

WIL.          Hey  ho.  the  thonder! 

PER.  Wherein  the  lightsome  levin4  shroudcs, 

WIL.          So  eleaves  thy  soule  asonder  : 


*  Horde,  .shot, 

*  Levin,  lightning 


112  AUGUST. 

PER.  Or  as  Dame  Cynthias  silver  ray, 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  the  moonclight ! 

PER.  Upon  the  glittering  wave  doth  play, 

WIL.          Such  play  is  a  pitteous  plight. 

PER.  The  glaimce  into  my  heart  did  glide, 

WIL.         Hey  ho,  the  glyder  ! 

PER.  Therewith  my  soule  was  sharply  gryde,1 

WIL.          Such  woundcs  soone  wexcn  wider. 

PER.  Hasting  to  raunch2  the  arrowe  out, 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  Pcrigot ! 

PER.  I  left  the  head  in  my  heart-root, 

WIL.          It  was  a  desperate  shot. 

PER.  There  it  ranckleth  aye  more  and  more, 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  the  arrow  ! 

PER.  Ne  can  I  find  salve  for  my  sore, 

WIL.         Love  is  a  careless  sorrow. 

PER.  And  though  my  bale  with  death  I  bought, 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  heavie  chcere  ! 

PER.  Yet  should  thilk  lasse  not  from  my  thought, 

WIL.         So  you  may  buye  golde  too  deere. 

PER.  But  whether  in  paynefull  love  I  pync  ! 

WIL.          Hey  ho,  pinching  payne  ! 

1  Gnjde,  pierced.  2 Haunch,  wmic.h. 


A  U  G  U  S  T.  1 13 

PER.  Or  thrive  in  wealth,  she  shalbe  mine, 

^\  IL.  But  if  thou  can  her  obtaine. 

PER.  And  if  for  gracelesse  griefe  I  dye, 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  gracelesse  griefe  ! 

PER.  Witnesse  she  slue  me  with  her  eye, 

WIL.  Let  thy  folly  be  the  priefe. 

PER.  And  you,  that  sawe  it,  simple  shcepe, 

WIL.  Hey  ho,  the  fayre  llocke  ! 

PER.  For  priefe  thereof,  my  death  shall  weepe, 

WIL.  And  inone  with  many  a  mocke. 

PER.  So  learnd  I  love  on  a  holy  eve, 

WIL.  I  fey  ho,  holy  day! 

PKR.  That  ever  since  my  heart  did  greve, 

WIL.  Xow  endeth  our  roundelay." 

CUD.      Sicker,  sike  a  roundle1  never  heard  I  none; 

Little  lacketh  Perigot  of  the  best, 
And  Willie  is  not  greatly  overgone,2 

So  weren  his  under-songes  well  addrcst. 
\\  IL.      Ileardgrome,  I  fear  me  thou  have  a  sijuint  eye ; 
Areede3  uprightly,  who  has  the  victorie. 
CUD.      Fayth  of  my  soule,  I  deeme  cche  have  gained 

Forthy4  let  the  lambe  be  Willie  his  ownc  ; 

1  RwmtUr,  roundelay.  3  Aw.le,  declare. 

2  Overdue,  ?urpa??ed.  *  Furtliy.  therefore. 

15 


114  AUGUST. 

And  for  Perigot  so  well  hath  him  payned, 

To  him  be  the  wroughten  mazer  alone. 
PER.     Perigot  is  well  pleased  with  the  doome, 
Ne  can  Willie  wite  the  witelesse1  heardgroome. 
WIL.     Never  dcmpt2  more  right  of  beautie,  I  weene, 
The  shepheard  of  Ida  that  iudged  Beauties  Quccnc. 
CUD.     But  tell  me,  shephcards,  should  it  not  yshemP 

Your  roundels  fresh  to  licarc  a  doleful  verse 
Of  Rosalind  (who  knowes  not  Rosalind  ?) 

That  Colin  made,  ylke4  can  I  you  rehearse. 
PER.     Now  say  it,  Cuddie,  as  thou  art  a  ladde  ; 
With  mery  thing  its  good  to  medic5  saddc. 
WIL.     Fayth  of  my  soul,  thou  shalt  ycrouncd  be 

In  Colins  steede,  if  thou  this  song  arccde ; 
For  never  thing  on  earth  so  pleaseth  me 

As  him  to  hcare,  or  matter  of  his  deede.6 
CUD.  Then  listen  ech  unto  my  heavie  lay, 
And  tune  your  pypes  as  ruthfull  as  yce  may. 

Ye  wastcfull  woodes,  bear  witncsse  of  my  woe,* 
Wherein  my  plaints  did  oftentimes  resounde  ; 

1  t.  e.,  blame  the  blameless.  4  Ylkc,  the  same. 

2  Dempt,  deemed,  judged.  5  Medic,  mingle. 

3  YeTiend,  mar.  C  Dccde,  doing. 


*  This  poem  is  an  imitation  of  the  Italian   Sestina,  but  is  executed 
with  very  little  ?kill.     <"'. 


AUGUST.  115 

irc  carelcsse  byrds  are  privy  to  my  cryes, 
Which  in  your  songs  were  woont  to  make  a  part ; 
Thou  pleasaunt  spring  hast  luld  mee  oft  asleepc, 
Whose  streamcs  my  trickling  teares  did  oft  augment1. 

"  Resort  of  people  doth  my  griefes  augment, 

The  walled  towns  doe  work  my  greater  woe  ; 

The  forest  wide  is  fitter  to  resound 

The  hollow  ccclio  of  my  carefull  cries  : 

I  hate  the  house,  since  thence  my  Love  did  part, 

Whose  wailefull  want  debars  mine  eyes  from  sleepc. 

«  Let  stremcs  of  teares  supply  the  place  of  sleepc  ; 
Let  all    that   sweetc   is  voyd,1  and   all   that  may  aug 
ment 

My  dole  draw  neere  !      More  meete  to  waile  my  w»  j 
Benc  the  wild  woods,  my  sorows  to  resound, 
Then  bed,  nor  bowre,  both  which  I  fill  with  cries. 
When  I  them  see  so  waste,  and  find  no  part 

><•  Of  pleasure  past.      Here  will  I  dwell  apart 
In  gastfull2  grove  therefore,  till  my  last  sleep 

1    \'»y<t,  remove.  2  Gasifull,  frightful. 


110  AUGUST. 

Doo  close  mine  eyes  ;  so  shall  I  not  augment 
With  sight  of  such  as  chaunge  my  restlesse  woe. 
Help  me,  yee  banefull  byrds!   whose  shrieking  sound 
Is  signe  of  dreery  death,  my  deadly  cries 

"  Most  ruthfully  to  tune  :   and  as  my  cryes 
(Which  of  my  woe  cannot  bewray  least  part) 
You  heare  all  night,  when  Nature  craveth  sleep, 
Increase,  so  let  your-yrksome  yelles  augment. 
Thus  all  the  nightes  in  plaintes,  the  days  in  woe, 
I  vowed  have  to  waste,  till  safe  and  sound 

"  She  home  returne,  whose  voyces  silver  sound 

To   cheerefull   songes   can   chaunge  .my   cheerelesse 

cries. 

Hence  with  the  nightingale  will  I  take  part, 
That  blessed  byrd,  that  spendes  her  time  of  sleepe 
In  songes  and  plaintive  pleas,  the  more  t'  augment 
The  memoric  of  his  misdeede  that  bred  her  woe. 

"  And  you  that  feel  no  woe,  when  as  the  sound 

Of  these  my  nightlie  cries  ye  heare  apart, 

I.3t  breake  your  sounder  sleep,  and  pitic  augment." 

I  £R.     0  Colin,  Colin  !  the  shepheardes  ioye, 
How  I  admire  ech  turning  of  thy  verse  ; 


AUGUST.  117 

And  Cuddle,  frcshe  Cuddie,  the  liefest1  boye, 
How  dolefully  his  dole2  tliou  didst  rehearse  ! 
CUD.     Then  blow  your  pypes,  shepheards,  till  you 

be  at  home  ; 
The  night  higheth  fast,  yts  time  to  be  gone. 

PERIDOT  HIS  EMULEME. 
Vincent  i  (jloria  licit. 
WILLYES  EMULEME. 


CUDDIES  EMBLEME.* 

Felice  chi  puo. 


•<t,  dearest. 


•:•:-  « xhe  meaning  hereof  is  veric  ambiguous:  for  Perigot  by  his 
pocsie  claiming  the  conquest,  and  Willye  not  yeclding,  Cuddie,  the 
arbiter  of  thcyr  cause  and  patr  m  of  his  owne,  pecmeth  to  ehallengo 
it  as  his  due,  saying,  that  hce  is  happie  which  can;  so  abruptly 
ending;  but  hee  mceneth  eythcr  him  that  can  win  the  best,  or 
moderate  hiuiselfe  being  best,  and  leave  off  with  the  best."  E.  K. 

SPENSER. 


118  THE     MO  UN  ING     WALK. 

THE    MORNING    WALK. 

To  the  beech-grove  with  so  sweet  an  air 

It  beckoned  me. 
0  earth  !  that  never  the  cruel  ploughshare 

Had  furrowed  thee  ! 
In  their  dark  shelter  the  flowerets  grew, 

Bright  to  the  eye, 
And  smiled  by  my  foot  on  the  cloudless  blue 

Which  decked  the  sky. 

*          *          #          *          * 

0  lovely  field  and  forest  fair, 

And  meads  grass-clad ! 
Her  bride-bed  Ereya  everywhere 

Enamelled  had. 
The  corn-flowers  rose  in  azure  band 

From  earthly  cell ; 
Nought  else  could  I  do,  but  stop  and  stand. 

And  greet  them  well. 

"Welcome  on  earth's  green  breast  again, 

Ye  flowerets  dear  ! 
In  spring  how  charming  'mid  the  grain 

Your  heads  ye  rear  ! 


THE     31  MIXING     WALK.  119 

Like  stars  'midst  lightning's  yellow  ray 

Yc  shine,  red,  blue  : 
0  how  your  summer  aspect  gay 

Delights  my  view  !" 

"  0  poet !  poet  !  silence  keep,— 

God  help  thy  case  ! 
Our  owner  holds  us  sadly  cheap, 

And  scorns  our  race. 
Each  time  he  sees,  he  calls  us  scum, 

Or  worthless  tares, 
Hell-weeds,  that  but  to  vex  him  como 

'Midst  his  corn-ears." 

"  0  wretched  mortals  ! — 0  wretched  i.ian  ! — 

0  wretched  crowd  !  — 
No  pleasures  ye  pluck,  no  pleasures  ^j  plan, 

In  life's  lone  road, — 
Whose  eyes  are  blind  to  the  glories  gr^at 

Of    the  works  of  God, 
And  dream  that  the  mouth  is  the  nearest  gate 

To  joy's  abode. 

"  Come,  flowers  !  for  we  to  each  other  belong ; 

o  " 

Come,  graceful  elf! 


120  MAY    SONG. 

And  around  my  lute  in  sympathy  strong 

Now  wind  thyself; 
And  quake  as  if  moved  by  Zephyr's  wing, 

'Ncath  the  clang  of  the  chord, 
And  a  morning  song  with  glee  we'll  sing 

To  our  Maker  and  Lord." 

OEHLENSCHLAQEK 


MAY    SONG. 

MAY,  sweet  May,  again  is  come, 

May,  that  frees  the  land  from  gloom  ; 

Children,  children,  up,  and  see 

All  her  stores  of  jollity  ! 

On  the  laughing  hedgerow's  side 

She  hath  spread  her  treasures  wide ; 

She  is  in  the  greenwood  shade, 

Where  the  nightingale  hath  made 

Every  branch  and  every  tree 

Ring  with  her  sweet  melody  ; 

Hill  and  dale  are  May's  own  treasures. 

Youths,  rejoice  !     In  sportive  measures 

Sing  ye  !  join  the  chorus  gay  ! 

Hail  this  merry,  merry  Mnv  ! 


S  U  M  M  E  II     PLEAS  U  11  E  S.  121 

Up,  then,  children  !  we  will  go 
Where  the  blooming  roses  grow ; 
In  a  joyful  company 
We  the  bursting  flowers  will  see  : 
Up,  your  festal  dress  prepare  ! 
Where  gay  hearts  are  meeting,  there 
May  hath  pleasures  most  inviting, 
Heart  and  siirht  and  ear  delighting 

O  GO 

Listen  to  the  birds'  sweet  song  : 
Hark  !   how  soft  it  floats  along  ! 
Courtly  dames,  our  pleasure*  share  ! 
Never  saw  I  May  so  fair  ; 
Therefore  dancing  will  we  go. 
Youths,  rejoice  !   the  flowerets  blow  ! 

Sing  ye  !  join  the  chorus  gay  ! 

Hail  this  merry,  merry  May  ! 

CONRAD  Vox  KIRCIIBKRQ 


SUMMER   PLEASURES. 

WHO  would  summer  pleasures  try, 
Let  him  to  the  meadows  hie. 
O'er  the  mountain,  in  the  vale 
Gladsome  sounds  and  sights  prevail  : 
16 


SUMMER     PLEASURES. 

In  the  fields  fresh  flowers  are  springing, 
In  the  boughs  new  chorals  singing, 
Richly  in  sweet  harmony 
There  the  birds  new  music  ply. 
This  is  all  thine  own,  sweet  May  ! 
As  thy  softer  breezes  play, 
Snow  and  frostwork  melt  away. 

Old  and  young,  come  forth  !  for  ye 
Winter-bound  again  are  free  ; 
Up  !  ye  shall  not  grieve  again. 
Look  upon  that  verdant  plain, 
Its  gloomy  robe  no  more  it  wears  ; 
How  beauteously  its  face  appears  ; 
He  who  'mid  the  flowers  enjoys 
The  sweetness  of  his  lady's  eyes, 
Let  him  cast  his  cares  away, 
And  give  the  meed  of  thanks  to  May. 

From  the  heart's  most  deep  recess, 
Hovering  smiles,  intent  to  bless, 
Gather  on  my  lady's  lips  ; 
Smiles,  that  other  smiles  eclipse ; 
Smiles,  more  potent,  care-dispelling, 
Than  the  bank  with  flowers  sweet  smelling, 


Than  the  birds'  melodious  measures, 
Than  our  choicest  woodland  treasures, 
Than  the  flower-besprinkled  plains, 
Than  the  nightingale's  sweet  strains  ; 
Fairer,  sweeter,  beauty  reigns. 


SONG. 

TELL  me,  whore's  the  violet  fled, 

Late  so  gayly  blowing  ; 
Springing  'ncath  fair  Flora's  tread, 

Choicest  sweets  bestowing  ? — 
Swain,  the  vernal  scene  is  o'er, 
And  the  violet  blooms  no  more  ! 

Say,  where  hides  the  blushing  rose, 
Pride  of  fragrant  morning  ; 

Garland  meet  for  beauty's  brows  ; 
Hill  and  dale  adorning  ? — 

Gentle  maid,  the  summer's  fled, 

And  the  hapless  rose  is  dead ! 

Bear  me,  then,  to  yonder  rill, 
Late  so  freely  flowing, 


124  SONG. 

Watering  many  a  daffodil 

On  its  margin  glowing, — 
Sun  and  wind  exhaust  its  store ; 
Yonder  rivulet  glides  no  more ! 

Lead  me  to  the  bowery  shade, 
Late  with  roses  flaunting  ; 

Loved  resort  of  youth  and  maid. 
Amorous  ditties  chanting. — 

Hail  the  storm  with  fury  shower ; 

Leafless  mourns  the  rifled  bower  ! 

Say  where  bides  the  village  maid, 
Late  yon  cot  adorning  ? 

Oft  I've  met  her  in  the  glade, 
Fair  and  fresh  as  morning. — 

Swain,  how  short  is  beauty's  bloom  ! 
Seek  her  in  her  grassy  tomb ! 

Whither  roves  the  tuneful  swain, 
Who,  of  rural  pleasures, 

Rose  and  violet,  rill  and  plain, 
Sung  in  deftest  measures  ? — 

Maiden,  swift  life's  vision  flies, 

Death  has  closed  the  poet's  eyes ! 


JACOJSI. 


K  .\VIABLE     P  0  V  E  11  T  Y.  125 


ENVIABLE   POVERTY. 

I  GLANCE  into  the  harvest  field, 

Where,  'ncath  the  shade  of  richest  trees, 
The  reaper  and  the  reaper's  wife 

Enjoy  their  noonday  ease. 

And  in  a  shadow  of  the  hedge 
I  hear  full  many  a  merry  sound, 

Where  the  stout,  brimming  water-jug 
From  mouth  to  mouth  £oes  round. 


- 


About  the  parents  in  the  grass, 
Sit  boys  and  girls  of  various  size, 

And,  like  the  buds  about  the  rose, 
Make  glad  my  gazing  eyes. 

See  !   God  himself  from  heaven  spreads 
Their  table  with  the  freshest  green, 

And  lovely  maids,  his  angel  band, 
Bear  heaped  dishes  in. 

A  laughing  infant's  sugar  lip, 

Waked  by  the  mother's  kiss  doth  deal 


126  THE     W  A  .j  K . 

To  the  poor  parents  a  dessert 
Still  sweeter  than  their  meal. 

From  breast  to  breast,  from  arm  to  arm, 
Goes  wandering  round  the  rosy  boy. 

A  little  circling  flame  of  love, 
A  living,  general  joy. 

And  strengthened  thus  for  farther  toil, 
Their  toil  is  but  joy  fresh  begun; 

That  wife, — 0,  what  a  happy  wife  ! 
And  0,  how  rich  is  that  poor  man ' 

DALEI 


THE    WALK. 

I  WENT  a  walk  on  Sunday, 
But  so  lonely  everywhere  ! — 

O'er  every  path  and  upland 
Went  loving  pair  and  pair. 

I  strolled  through  greenest  corn-fields, 
All  dashed  with  gold  so  deep ; 

How  often  did  I  feel  as  though 
My  very  heart  would  weep ! 


THE     WALK. 

The  heaven  so  softly  azure, 

The  sun  so  full  of  life  ! 
And  everywhere  youth  and  maiden, 

Was  happy  man  and  wife. 

They  watched  the  yellowing  harvest, 
Stood  where  cool  water  starts  ; 

They  plucked  flowers  for  each  other, 
And  with  them  gave  their  hearts. 

The  larks,  how  they  singing  hovered 
Arid  streamed  gladness  from  above  ! 

How  high  in  the  listening  bosoms 
Hose  the  flame  of  youthful  love  ! 

In  the  locks  of  the  blithe  youngsters 

*/  o 

The  west  wind  loved  to  play, — 
And  lifted  with  colder  finger, 
My  hair  already  gray. 

Ah  !   I  heard  song  and  laughter, 
And  it  went  to  my  heart's  core  ; — 

0,  were  I  again  in  boyhood  ! 
Were  I  free  and  young  once  more  ! 

DALKI 


128  LOVE     IN     IDLENESS. 

LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

WHEN  comes  the  beauteous  summer  time, 

And  grass  grows  green  once  more, 
And  sparkling  brooks  the  meadows  lave 

With  fertilizing  power  ; 
And  when  the  birds  rejoicing  sing 

Their  pleasant  songs  again, 
Filling  the  vales  and  woodlands  gay 

With  their  enlivening  strain  ;  — 
Go  not  at  eve  nor  morn,  fair  maids, 

Unto  the  mead  alone, 
To  seek  the  tender  violets  blue, 

And  pluck  them  for  your  own  ; 
For  there  a  snake  lies  hid,  whose  fangs 

May  leave  untouched  the  heel, 
But  not  the  less,  —  0,  not  the  less, 

Your  hearts  his  power  shall  feel  ! 

DK  TliOJ 


THE    END. 


tt  : 


6 


1932 


OCT 


933 


& 


°"  i»*S*!*-* 


31 


AW  8018J4 

MAY  5   1934 


19  IS40 


17 


®     1947 
12  ,948 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


